As a child I would spend my nights in prayer. Praying to God to make it stop or **** me. Life went on then as it does now…slow and painful, with me begging for it to end. I still remember the prayer I would pray to God. A prayer that still gets prayed even today.

“Dear Mr. Jesus, if you can hear me please do not let him hurt me anymore, Mr. Jesus. Please come and take me away with you. I want to be an angel with soft fluffy white wings. Don’t you need an angel like me, Mr. Jesus? I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be a good angel.” Apparently, he didn’t. And it was because bad girls can’t be angels. Bad little girls have to stay with bad people and be punished for being bad.

She is still bad. Bad bad girl. That is why therapist doesn’t want to talk to her. Nobody cares that we are hurting.  All because she is a bad bad girl. Bad girls don’t get to be angels. Bad girls get punished.

“My dear little one, what do you want? What do you need right now? Sweet little girl, what do you want?”* asks DT


I gently whisper my response, "I want to feel better."


“Okay, tell me more,” he softly inquires.


I take a deep breath and continue, “I want to be okay with all of my feelings and I don’t want to be afraid to share them. I want to believe that I am not my past, that my past is just a part of me. I want to be loved for who I am, and not what I have accomplished. I want to be authentic and real, and not be afraid to show the real me, all of me. I want to laugh more, that deep belly laugh, until tears of joy stream down my cheeks. And I want to cry less from that desperate, hopeless place I find myself in during the night. I want to be able to sleep without nightmares and no longer fear the darkness. I want to live without the voices in the shadows of my mind telling me I am bad, worthless, undeserving of care and love. I want to believe in myself, and I want to believe in others too. I want to trust. I want to understand, at the core of my being, that I am safe, and that I am going to be okay, no matter what happens.”


“Is there anything else?” DT asks me.


“I want to love myself for who I am. I want to recognize that I am working hard, that I will be okay. I want to love myself just because I am alive, and I am strong, and I deserve to find peace and happiness. I want to love all of me, even the parts I have not yet accepted and the parts that I do not like. I want to feel the love I have for myself every single day, even if only in some small way, even if only for a minute."


He answers my request in a soft confident voice,

*"You will have these things. I believe in you. You will be okay. You will live."

There's a HOLE in my bucket!
So I'm sorry if my badness contaminated you last night!

I tried to contain it all in my bucket but my bucket has a hole in it and all the BADNESS is leaking out! I am now in search of a bucket repair system so I can keep everything properly stored and contained so as not to bother anyone with my pain and badness.

I am sorry for the dissociation and the visible badness that leaked through the hole last night. The duct tape clearly is not as strong as they say...so I do hope I can find that bucket repair kit today so you will never have to see the badness and filth again.

I hope that I did not traumatize you too badly with my badness and I hope that you will forgive me for showing it to you. I do know how horribly traumatizing even hearing about my badness can be...which is why I tried so hard to keep it in the bucket.

I'm sorry for the frustration and pain I caused you and I will do my best to repair the bucket, using the tools you tried so diligently to teach me, and you will never have to be exposed to Nita's badness again.

Promise!

Sounds good...they say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting...

Come and share with me, allow me to show you a piece of myself when I trusted another, and then a piece of me after that trust was broken, shattered. Come and experience the vulnerability, the body memories, intrusive thoughts, the isolation and hopelessness… and the shame! Imagine you have someone to walk with you, beside you, someone you have learned to trust and after  the two of you walk side by side for several long miles, you finally allow yourself to take off the mask and be who you are, you share pieces of yourself that you wouldn’t share with another, and you finally feel accepted.

Then, imagine one day that person is gone. Well, he is still there, but he no longer walks beside you, he instead chooses to walk on the other side of the street. But you don’t know why. Must have been something you did, you must have shown something of yourself that was too scary, too shameful. So once again you walk alone. Only this time, you are no longer searching for another to walk beside you. Your trust has been shattered and you are no longer willing, or able, to reach out. You realize now that he was right. No one will believe you, or understand you, or even try. Because you are bad, you deserve nothing.

You must move on, be grateful for what you learned in this relationship. You are happy and safe now. You must be grateful for the wine and liquor that has allowed you some clarity, allowed your brain to function once again. You are not completely hopeless or unstable…you are an adult once again. The fact that you are once again living in silence of your true feelings, well, that’s okay now, because you did the risk analysis, and it is 75% less painful this way. And you have had enough pain in your life.

Focus on the positives! You have learned to hurt in solitude. You thought you had forgotten! Once again, it is so easy to hide your true feelings, and emotions, well, what are those? You feel smug realizing the recent validation that you were right not to trust, and you know now…you must be vigilant, stay guarded, and never let your walls down. No longer does the scared and broken little girl exist, this is the “NEW” you…she is gone for good this time.

People are not like dogs, dogs are always loyal, always accepting, people will hurt you if you give them a chance. Do not ever turn your back for there is always someone lurking with a sharp knife. Lie, lie, lie…if you HAVE to cry, and I suppose everyone does at some point, do not ever cry out loud! Keep it inside…hide your feelings! No one should ever see your tears! And smile, don’t frown or act depressed...those traits show a lack of confidence and weakness…remember: you were designed more for public than for private.

Hope for nothing more than what you have…do not hope for love, intimacy, for someone to care…not about the ‘real’ you. Keep the real you in ‘solitude’ never to see the light of day, this is the only way you will survive. Sweep up the bits and pieces of yourself, and carefully put them back into the box and store the box in the darkest corner of the closet. Show no one anything personal about you, not the real you. The past no longer exists. You are a confident, successful, happy woman…and that’s all anyone needs to know about you. Keep the rest to yourself…didn’t I tell you that, like, over 30 years ago?

Forgiveness...sounds good...they say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting...

But what if you do? What if something comes up and you don’t have room for me anymore? What if you do forget how much it hurts? …………but what if you don’t?
I have an idea of something that I think might work in trying to reopen the lines of communication with the therapist…but something is still holding me back…is it fear?  Trust?  Safety?  

A girl holds a pillow in front of her face, her eyes water but she doesn’t blink so no tears fall. She is screaming inside, “I am afraid. You will hurt me. You will destroy me. You will get sick and tired of me and you will throw me in the trash just as they did. I am afraid of you so I will remain quiet and I will try to be good.”

And another girl speaks, stubborn and questioning all thoughts of safety and trust, “Now you want to ‘hear’ me again? NOW? Where were you then when I needed you? Where were you? Why should I trust you? I did trust you and you took it away. Shattered me. I can’t let that happen again! It’s easier to deal with it myself than to trust someone else. You won’t be there when I am frozen in pain and forget how to breathe. You won’t be there. It is too much for you. I will not talk to you. You will tell me to get over it, stay in the present moment. If I tell you I need to hurt myself because I deserve it you will send me away. You won’t understand and you will think I am pathetic and weak. I will walk away right now! I do not need you or your help!”

Another voice questions the genuiness of the therapist’s words, “Why do you try so hard to be nice to me? I don’t need your kindness because it isn’t real. Your kindness cuts me, it makes me sad. It hurts more than any pain. I prefer to fight you and push you away because I know how to do that! I know how to fight back. If you accept me, if you know me and accept me and then still tell me you care and treat me with kindness and respect? And then if I accept your kindness and lower my wall, my defenses, then I will be exposed and you can hurt me then. You will hurt her.”

There is another girl, a smaller one, one who cries because she is so lost and afraid…because it hurts so much inside and she does believe in the therapist but the others, they won’t let her talk. They try to protect her but really they are hurting her. Because every night her body hurts, her body feels things that her mind cannot process. It scares her and leaves her aching with shame and badness. She whispers things we don’t speak of. She wants help now. She wants it to stop.

How do I make it stop? How do I make it stop for her? I am filled with uncertainty and pain. He told me he would be here. He said he would not leave me and he would try to help me to the best of his ability. He said my feelings are safe with him and he will not forget me.

Trust =  faith, belief, hope, conviction, confidence, expectation, reliance

The sordid talk of “trust”…

A recent email communication has inspired me to research and clarify the word “TRUST”. What does trust mean to you? When you set your alarm at night, do you ‘trust’ that it will wake you up in the morning? What happens if one day, it doesn’t? Would you then ‘distrust’ your alarm clock? How many chances would the alarm clock have to fail you before you shopped for a new, more reliable one?

Do you ‘trust’ that someone received something you left for them, or do you follow up to ensure receipt?

The Doctor-Patient relationship is based on “TRUST”

I don't remember a time I 'trusted', truly trusted, anyone. That is until I began working with dear therapist. I was thinking about how it takes a lifetime to gain trust and only a moment to lose it....sadly.... And I was reviewing the times the word 'trust' has been written or spoken by DT in the past 5 years. I dare say he has written, or said, the "T" word more in the last five years than I've ever said in my entire life!

Examples: (as you can see, I'm all about the 'evidence' big grin)

DT said: it took you over a year to develop the  trust  to let me know some things directly from your words....
DT said: Give ME your hate - because I am not making the pain go away. I won't go anywhere if you do.  Trust  me.
DT said: I ask that you try to  trust  what I am saying here and continue to commit to this our work together.
DT said: I  trust  in you and the strength of our working relationship.
DT said: you can  trust  that I and others will be there to help and support.
DT said: You will continue to challenge my concern and trustworthiness because this is what you have needed to do to protect the fragile self that has over learned self-reliance.
DT said: I will not abandon you because you are only going to lean into "trust  and need" to the extent that you are not collapsing.
DT said: You are slowly growing in your capacity to tolerate these feelings in the presence of another  trusted  person - NOT AN EASY TASK!
DT said: I understand is a long process and  trust  /fear/shame is involved.
DT said: Building  trust  with others and within yourself takes a long time.....given your starting position.
DT said: I insist that we have the  trust  and honesty about how you are doing and what you need.
DT said: There is so much learning, relearning,  trusting,  questioning, testing that you are doing. I  trust  that you will give it your best and your best will be good enough
DT said: Rest your head and  trust  that you are safe in your space right now., no one is going to hurt you and you are wrapped in your blue blanket with my faith enclosed.
DT said: I accept your anger at me for this (not that I like it…) and I  trust  that we will continue to work through new challenges honestly.
DT said: As you learn to  trust  and open up with the shame and fears and we keep you fully in your body during these times
DT said: Fundamental  trust  in the therapy relationship can take years and you are getting there slowly and slowly is necessary…
DT said: make arrangements with 'best friend' or someone else you  trust  to take your meds and give you only enough for 2 days at a time.
DT said: I  trust  that you will bring your fears, needs and whatever else shows up.
DT said: you are in the middle of a giant, long term test of me and others on whom you might have some  trust.
DT said: If I gave that impression, then that was my own "stuff" getting in the way of  trusting  you in knowing what is best for you.
DT said: The nature of your  trust,  distrust, anger, perceived loss of me is a major "therapeutic" aspect of your healing and our work together.
DT said: you can  trust  that I and others will be there to help and support.

Wow! That's a WHOLE lotta "TRUST" to push and push and push....and then to shatter into a million pieces in only a moment....

Did DT teach me to "trust"? Yes, he did.

...but more importantly, he taught me that it isn't safe to trust anyone. Not even a therapist who extended a 'life-line' to you every single night for 2 years.

I "trust" that he isn't "here" tonight.

I trust that he discarded me and left me here alone to try to put back the shattered pieces of my life...by myself!!!

Just as he trusts I will make the best decision for myself. (that sounds to me like he has thrown the proverbial 'trust' ball back into my court)

Dear Therapist, I see your "trust" and I raise you a "discarded, shattered, afraid, little girl"...who, after 5 years and thousands of dollars working with you....is back to trusting no one. And more deeply wounded than ever. I trust that the knife in my back will hurt for years to come. And I trust that the bad taste in my mouth will remain after a few bottles of wine.

Trust....my new 'drinking' game...I will drink 1 glass of wine every time I hear, or read, the word 'trust'…I should be sufficiently drunk, or at least buzzed, the majority of the time!


**Trust....trust - no - one!

There is so much running through my head and it is preventing me from sleeping. Which I suppose is okay since we are 4 days from Christmas and I have yet to do any shopping. The therapist would tell me to stop “indulging” and live up to my responsibilities…(Like anyone ever “mirrored” that for me!) The therapist would probably tell me to stop listening to music that seems to make me feel even more depressed…but here I sit, anyway, head phones on, listening anyway.

But I feel so effing worthless and sad right now.  Here I sit in the midst of two Christmas trees, a mantle full of poinsettias and lights, garland strung on the banisters, frosty jingling behind me and I cannot FEEL any of it.  And I want to FEEL it right now!  I want to feel all the good things in my life…and I can't, which makes me even more frustrated.  And the only way to force it is to hit the liquor cabinet (which I have not yet ruled out).  

I don't think I intentionally planned it this way but the holidays are usually very busy here...which adds to my stress level as I deal with “family” events. Three birthdays to celebrate as well as the 26th being my 23rd anniversary. And I can't get caught up in it this year!  I want to and I can't.  

And here I sit thinking how I have been married to a man for 23 years and he does not even know me and I'm wondering how that happened.  But the reality is, no one really knows me... He loves who he "thinks" Nita is...but I am not really that person at all.  And it's really tiring for me to keep pretending to be her after 23 years.  

It's been a long long week…I got caught up in the suburban fantasy...it happens...I have fallen and the past can't be undone.

I messed up...I don't feel well at all tonight...not at all...

...I think it is time to go check out that liquor cabinet...

Each night the little girl builds a fortress of pillows and blankets to protect herself from the irrational fear and the very real nightmares that overtake her in the darkness.  She forgot to build that fortress last Friday night...and left the extra pillows on the floor and the bear she sleeps with in a chair.  The above facts were brought to my attention the next night as the hus was heading to bed.  As typical, he exits the man-cave and stands in the hallway and announces that he is going to bed (as though I'm unable to see him?).  Then he says, as he says every night, "Come hold me?"...knowing that I will say, "Sure, I'll be right there." but 'right' really represents several hours...  Last night there was a slight deviation to our nightly verbal exchange as he said, "Last night you didn't build your fortress and I don't know what was going on but I woke up at 2:30am and I had like 6 inches of space in the bed because you were so close to me."  Hum...I guess I took the "come hold me" phrase seriously on Friday night.

I don't know why the deviation from my normal set up...but I do know that there is this desperate little girl inside of me who longs to be held, but other, more 'grown-up' parts inside of me who know we're supposed to be beyond that now and it will never be - nor will they ever allow that to happen.

I also know that a lot of the time it's difficult for the hus to understand where I am and what's going on with me...I can't even begin to explain it to him when I often don't know myself.  So I tend to air on the side of "quietness" in my communication with him too.  In other words, I don't often take off the mask in front of him, or ask him for help.  Part of me feels bad for him…I recognize that's it's difficult to have a relationship with someone with my history, and I can be more than a handful (understatement...understatement...) and it isn’t easy for anyone to stick with 'us' through the bad times...the really bad times.  I get that - and not just with him.

That's why I pull away instead.  It's difficult enough for me to deal with all the different and conflicting parts of me - how can I expect anyone else to do it with me?  The one who aches for reassurance and care, the one who sabotages any attempts to act like a sophisticated adult with her fears and desperate and confusing needs.  The one who aches with the desire to be loved, saved, fixed…on a never-ending search for something to make her feel whole, safe, "unmolested".  The sophisticated adult…the professional cold grown woman who hides her insecurity by pretending to be self-confident...some even call her 'stuck-up'.  The party girl who can only react to situations with humor and laughter even in the most inappropriate times.  The little girl who desperately wants to be held safely by someone who will not hurt her.  

How can anyone else get through to all of that?  I can't do it and believe me, I've tried.
Today, the sophisticated adult is holding steady at the helm...on 'therapy' day, which typically means she will act as though everything is great with the world, even though inside, everyone else is screaming and suffocating under the weight of the fear...sadness...anger...shame... hopelessness.  And it is virtually impossible to break through that exterior because she holds the key to lock others out...particularly the therapist because she needs no one, and that holds double for someone who told the 5 year old to "deal with it" because she is busy...and "make another choice since it's after 10 and the closed sign is out"...after being there way after 10 for the little girl for 2 years.

And then, late tonight, when the wind howls, and the snow begins to fall, and the coldness seeps inside of this body and weaves its way up my spine, the desperation will begin, followed by the crying...then the overwhelming fear and hopelessness that will be unrelenting and she will be inconsolable until she cries herself into a restless sleep and wakes up tomorrow with a migraine and swollen red eyes.

You might be thinking, "Nita, if you KNOW that's what's going to happen then can't you stop it?  Can't you make a different choice and let the therapist try to help you?"  

I don't know why it all seems so out of my control - I can watch it play out but I cannot intervene or stop it.  I wish I could...she won't let me use the key either to unlock the door.

Dearest Therapist:
There is nothing wrong with me. I don’t see what you see. I feel fine today… it must have been a dream. I don’t know why I ever told you anything at all. I have no problems, there’s nothing wrong with me. How could there possibly be? I am the perfect girl. Things like that don’t happen to girls like me. I have the perfect life, with the perfect kids, the perfect friends, the perfect job, the perfect house, the perfect smile. There is no way I could have ever suffered something like that. I am not pathetic and sorry. Girls like me don’t have problems. Girls like me don’t feel pain. Girls like me have everything anyone could possibly wish for, and then some. There is nothing I cannot achieve. I am so sorry for wasting your time.*

WHAT ACHES TO BE SAID BUT WILL REMAIN HIDDEN BEHIND THE SMILE:
I am not that perfect girl. My heart and soul have third degree burns that cannot be repaired. It hurts so much inside that at times it is unbearable and I cannot remain here, housed in this body. I hide behind a smile because all I have left is a small amount of pride and a whole bushel of stubborn will. My life is one big lie. No one will see me with my head in the toilet or the scars on my arms that were once covered with blood. No one will ever know that the perfect girl is not real. The reality of it all is way too difficult to divulge and much less complicated to conceal. Tonight I cry alone but when tomorrow comes I will once again live that ‘perfect life’… the life of no pain, the life of no shame, and the life with no fear. And you will never know that when the darkness falls, and I am once again alone, I will feel the pain I push away all day long. And I will lock myself in the bathroom and I will sob on the cold tile floor. But I will do it in the silence of my bathroom, alone, in the darkness.

**You will never know….because I will not speak...I am not allowed to speak.

I am so tired tonight…I don't know if I even have the energy to let out the tightness I am feeling inside my chest. I don't want to lie down, or close my eyes… I fear I will become overwhelmed with negative thoughts. I find solace by clicking new document button and typing away like crazy. Writing is cathartic for me.

I sit here, night after night, oblivious to the storm raging in my head....please, don't let me hear....please, make me not feel anymore....and I barricade myself, waiting for the night to end.

Some days I feel like this is HELL ON EARTH!

It's on these days when I swallow my screams, I tell myself "this too shall pass"...and I hear a faint voice inside my head echo my thoughts....'soon...soon...soon', she tells me. There is no use screaming, or begging, or reasoning with myself, or the others within me. Please don't let me lose it tonight...I don't want to fall back again...it is not worth it.

WHY? I ask the question in my mind over and over again: WHY? WHY? WHY?

There is no answer tonight, there is never an answer. There is only anger, and sadness, and so much pain. I don't want to hate. I tell myself I don't have to take it anymore...soon...there is an end. His face taunts me, his angry voice fills the silence, his sarcastic laugh envelopes me in fear, his evil snort makes me cringe, his stale breath makes my skin crawl.

Where are you? I cannot find myself. Some days I see a shimmer of hope which I visualize with every beat of my heart. But I no longer hold any expectation… it's easier this way.

Earlier I was thinking that I’m losing me…but the reality is it’s already happened.
THERE IS NO ME LEFT...

“I am certain that I cannot fully understand the gravity and turmoil that you face when they consume your mind.”

Really, DT, I hadn’t noticed! All that wasted time I’ve spent trying to get you to UNDERSTAND. I have an idea how to make that happen, a plan to finally make it actually CLICK  in your PhD/MHP brain…so that you’ll finally say, WOW I get it now!

“I/we need to continue to work toward understanding these, even if no resolution is accessible at this time.”

See, here’s the deal…just as you have your limits, I also have limits. I’ve played beat the clock, and hang in there it will get better….guess what? It’s NOT better! And the bad place remains.

“I also want to acknowledge that what you experience and think each night is real for you and that the "choices" that you face are nearly always painful and feel hopeless.”

DT, that’s so sweet of you to say that. I also want to ACKNOWLEDGE  that you also did your best too – in this “process”. It’s just that I still haven’t found what I’m looking for – PEACE INSIDE MY F@%KED UP HEAD! – and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t exist. So forgive me if I give up the lifetime search for the Holy Grail!

“Nita will work it out, DT, I assure you she will work it out.” She will “deal with it”.

“My words "when and if" were heard and processed in such a manner as to feel rejection/abandonment and because this is your expectation, you will go to great lengths to prove this... at least to whatever extent you can with words/thoughts....which ultimately seem to make you feel worse...which I know you don't want. “

You’re RIGHT! I don’t want to FEEL worse! In fact, I no longer want to FEEL at all!!!!

And, DT, I ask for your “understanding” and “openness” to see my point of view and why I don’t want to do it anymore…no room for “judgment” DT …”we all have our reasons for doing what we do.”

**I’ll  work it out and it won’t be “perfect” DT, just “good enough”.

I don’t want to focus on the feelings of those left behind…not now, not tonight.
I think that life leaves your lungs first and your eyes last...
How does that old saying go:
                                                        'The Eyes are the Windows to the Soul'
Maybe that’s why life leaves last through your eyes. The soul leaves your body and then there is no life left in your eyes. And after death, once the soul leaves the body, your eyes look glassy and vacant. I find myself wondering; in that moment, right before death, when you KNOW you’re going to die, and there’s no hope of turning back the clock, is there a feeling of peace and acceptance?

I sometimes think my eyes have been vacant and lifeless for years. And even though my heart still beats in my chest, that through the years of abuse, he did **** me – but, now disconnected from my brain, my body just hasn’t realized it yet. And when it finally does…my broken heart will stop beating.

What are you thinking right now, Nita?

I’m thinking I don’t want to die but I don’t want to live.

I’m thinking I should call DT and see if he has openings this week. But I can’t pick up the phone right now. Besides, it’s after 10, so the DT window is now “closed”. So it would only feel like “rejection” if I did call.

I’m not planning to do anything drastic tonight…well that might depend on your definition of drastic.  It’s scary inside my head right now. I don’t know how else to say it. Unusual… it isn’t often that I find myself unable to translate the words inside of my head and put them on paper, even if I’m unable to speak them aloud. I don’t find that to be the case tonight.

Or maybe some things are better left unwritten.

I realized something today:  I’ve lost hope.

I go through the “motions” of living, but I’ve lost hope. I have lost the support of someone I “thought” cared for me – and now I trust people even less. And I want to retreat inside myself even further. The part of me who was starting to feel hopeful – beginning to trust – she feels dead again.

I’m not sleeping and I’m exhausted – I am not the person I was before.

I have lost hope.

I am exhausted from constantly fighting. Who or what am I fighting? Myself? The girls inside me? No amount of excuses seem right – nothing can ease my guilt. I know that I am the one to blame. This is no game – no self-indulgent pity party. This is a bit of fear blooming into a swirl of rage. No amount of time will ease this pain. Pangs of guilt will always reverberate out of my empty, blood-drained heart.

**Tired and angry – angry and tired – it’s never ending.

Tonight I have been overcome by the weary darkening of overwhelming feelings. They pulsate through my veins, taking control... I fight all the frantic thoughts and I'm not sure what's becoming of me.
At times I don't care; I just want to be empty and so I push everyone away and close the doors around me.

I have lost my way. I've been dropped on a desert island and it's just me here, alone with my thoughts. My head has become a war zone.

You see it doesn't matter how you try to escape it, doesn't matter how hard you try to run you'll never run fast enough. For it has no features or feelings, it is flat and lifeless yet it hates me and seeks to ruin me more than anything else could. If I were to die would it be gone to? Its only reason for existence is to wreck me.  There's nowhere to go from here.  

I will leave this life...

You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.

Like it or lump it.

The only constant is change.

Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!

Life isn’t fair!

If life gives you lemons…make lemonade.

I feel trapped. Trapped in this life I don’t want to be in, trapped inside my head, inside this messed up, used up body. Trapped by the conflicting voices that argue and debate constantly…never a minute of peace and quiet! Trapped!!!

I continue to live inside this chaotic crazy world of confusion and I don’t know which way is up anymore. I cancel appointments, I lash out at DT, tell him he isn't helping me and I hate him. I dissociate, to **** the pain, I abuse the drugs that have been prescribed, SI to try to get the bad out of me, I don’t sleep, most weekends I don’t even have the energy to go out of the house…but none of it matters….because “it’s all part of the process”…perhaps DT could provide me with a bullet point of the ‘process’ so I can see where I am now, and how many more bullet points there are to go…so I’ll have all the evidence and be able to make an ‘informed’ decision of whether I have the stamina to do it. Isn’t that part of the ‘discovery’ process?

Nothing gets processed, it never gets better. I don’t think I even understand the concept anymore. I mean I’ve read so much about it…treatment approaches; behavioral, psychodynamic, cognitive, eclectic, holistic, existential, person focused, CBT, DBT, and more! I’ve researched and studied trauma symptoms and what to expect, how to handle them. I’ve read about the long-term effects of childhood abuse…the fear of abandonment, inability to trust or feel safe, inability to self-soothe or regulate emotions, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, self injury, suicide ideation, the tendency to ‘repeat the trauma’.… oh, I “understand” it well, from an educational perspective. I have good insight. I can explain it to someone else…but emotionally, and physically…personally, I don’t comprehend it, I can’t apply it to me. It’s all just words, I have no personal connection to them. Just like the terms: mom, dad, safety, trust, intimacy…all words in a dictionary. I understand them, I know the ‘meaning’ of the words but I have no real human connection to them, they have no personal meaning to me. Like reading a physics book…all words and terms and models and notions and things…I sit and observe externally, but none of it is part of my internal world.

That’s my problem right now…(well, one of) is no one listens! *NO ONE HEARS ME!!! Everyone just shoves information at me – techniques, tools, lists, print outs, videos, cds, diary cards, words…and I see them, and hell, I’m pretty sure I could teach them all to anyone with an IQ over 50 – but how does it relate to me, to my life? The stupid exercises in DBT…”practice them” go to class, talk about them…
DBTC says, *“Don’t you feel better/happier/distracted/grounded/soothed now?” And I just pause and take an internal inventory and say, “NO!” I don’t because it doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do.
“Oh, well, then you must be doing something WRONG. You are a failure – you aren’t trying hard enough.” Yes, it’s my entire fault. I will try harder. And I try harder, and it doesn’t work, and then I become more frustrated, like a 1 year old trying to fit a round toy into a square hole. It doesn’t fit! And I try it over and over and over, and it still doesn’t fit. And I become more and more frustrated and feel more and more worthless and stupid…and no one listens because it’s my fault. I’m not trying hard enough! I should be able to do this! I should be able to ‘soothe’ myself and ‘ground’ myself and ‘feel safe’ and make him go away when he comes to me at night, and be happy when I’m sad…and pretend, pretend, pretend, fake it. Shut up and behave yourself, young lady, so everyone can see how much better you're doing...another DBT success story!

Nothing is shifting and I’m still stuck. Read it, live it, apply it, love it! I read the material like it’s a prerequisite class in college. I study it, I learn it, I recite it, I ace the exam, I can tutor others on the material…but like finite math – I’ll never use it, I don’t apply it in my own life. I don’t incorporate it on a personal level – it’s just a class I have to pass to graduate.

Nothing is stable, nothing is safe, there’s nowhere to turn, no one to turn too. There’s no one here – no one listens – no one cares about what I say is working or isn’t working. The echoes of my screams just resonate through the cavernous canyon. I look around for the Verizon network and there’s nothing – no one. No one HEARS ME! DT used to hear me, but not anymore because now you don’t have time. “Sure I do,” says Dear Therapist, “I have a whole hour.” And you can call me until 10pm each and every night, if you need too, and if I’m available and not (enter: in session,  at the hospital working, running…or just plain not wanting to answer the phone) I will listen. In other words, if everything else falls through, then 'maybe'. Gee, I should jump on that.

Truly, I should take it, run with it, put it in the blender with some water, and make lemonade for EVERYONE!

Yes, my world today is so much different now than it was then. The only difference is the scenery.

Everything is still there: the fear, the lack of trust, the lack of safety, the ED, the SI, SIB, the pieces of me, the unfamiliar woman in the mirror looking back at me.

There's no where to run to… no where to hide....from myself. That's what it comes down to in the end, I can't hide from myself, and I can't seem to help myself either.

I’ve been fighting. Fighting, struggling, and lashing out at the faceless, formless thing that chases me ever since I can remember. I’m so very angry now, tonight, all day, – technically a lifetime…whatever. Angry and tired, I sit with my hands on my knees and my head bent, rocking…weak but wishing to be strong; held captive but wishing to be free; alone and afraid, wishing for comfort and courage.

I am sad as hell and I have no one in real life to talk to because no one cares or understands and whatever I know that it’s my “fault” that I don’t have the support system in place when I am in dire need of it…which would be now. I know that I ****. Got. It. I am a bit on the ‘not-lucid’ side tonight and a wishing I was drunk! It is so hard to stay sober and I am starting to doubt the worth of it.

There is a part inside who has been researching how to die…quickly and painlessly. Last Friday it was an overdose of medication (I won’t say what med it was because it is now in the past and I don’t need some well-intended person yelling at me OH MY GOD THAT COULD **** YOU in all caps - sometimes we are still in quite a fragile state.) I write this because I feel like those of you who have been a part of this journey with me should know what’s going on. This is what’s going on: I do not feel better. I do not have a good support in place here. Shame. On. Us. We have not done a good job at getting this done. I have continued to pretend like everything is fine when there everything is so very un-fine. not-fine…so very opposite of fine.

I can’t cope with the frustration and invalidation tonight. I can’t cope with the screaming. I am not coping at all. I’ve tried. I can’t. I am struggling right now, tonight, to make it minute to minute. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I feel like I am fighting a losing battle and I have no coach. And I do not feel better.

I miss my big brother so much I ache. He was the world to me. He cared for me when nobody else was there for me. He taught me things that helped to become who I am today.  I miss our closeness and our days spent just laughing and doing nothing. I miss us talking about everything and nothing. I miss sharing our hopes for the future. I wish I could have some of that back, even for just a moment. He was always supposed to be here, but somebody changed that by taking him away from me forever.

I remember that horrible phone call like it was yesterday. The day that I was told that I would never have you beside me in this journey anymore. I was stunned. How was possible that I would never get to talk to you again?? I spend days in a daze, unbelief, waiting for the phone to ring and hear your voice on the other end. It never happened, and days slowly turned to months and months into years. It has now been over 6 years since I have talked to you in person.

Day by day I think of you, how can all of this be true? I can't believe you're really gone, I still can't accept it, even after so long. Just the thought of you makes me cry, I never even got the chance to say goodbye. I don't know if it will ever get better. You were my brother and I loved you like no other. I would take your place if I had a choice. But now I have to let you rest, although without you my world's a mess. I miss you with all of my heart!

Dear therapist once said, "Once you stop trying to escape yourself, you will have won a big phase of the battle because in reality there is no one you presently have to escape or fear. One, because you are no longer a child, and two, because you have more, much more, personal power and capacities to protect yourself then in the past.”

It was so many years ago when I bought a costume of a confident woman with no history of abuse. I was the only one who knew it was a costume, and when I looked in the mirror, I longed to be that woman, the beautiful, confident woman with nothing to hide, and I never took that costume off. I pushed away the thoughts, the disgust that was of the past, I could do it…it was easy. I just had to stay busy, and not leave time to think about it. But one day that all came to a screeching halt and suddenly my life was so painful, and the pain was so intense…I wanted to be left alone in my pain, I did not want to share the pain I was feeling. I was afraid to explore the darkness that dwelled inside of me, the darkness that I had ignored and pushed away for so many years. I was afraid if the things that lived in my darkness were exposed to light, they would grow out of control, and overcome me, make me weak and afraid, **** me into the darkness until I no longer existed.

But the darkness was not to be ignored, it snuck up on me during the night, it rattled my windows, and wrote ******, bitter graffiti on my walls. There was no escape, I could no longer outrun my past, it had caught up with me, now ran beside me, and I knew it would soon overtake me. I began to have panic attacks, waking in the middle of the night, unable to breathe. I needed a coach, a life coach, and I needed one fast! I needed a coach to teach me to run faster, to escape. So I began to search for a coach and when I found one, but rather than teach to me run faster, he wanted me to slow down, to look…he wanted me to feel. What? Why would I allow myself to feel, it would just hurt, cause me pain. He told me that I could run until I wore myself out but I could not escape my past or my pain. I had to learn to face my past in order to move forward and heal. When I told him I was scared, that I didn't have the strength to face it, he told me that he would 'train me', stay with me, and help me to find the strength within me that he could see. The strength I saw in him was a reflection of the strength I was seeking for myself.

I have been hit time and time again in this process. I have had black eyes, bruised and cut skin, broken bones and a shattered spirit. And when I could not find the strength, he would help me, encourage me and cheer me on. I am moving forward, and I am starting to see my worth.

I remember when I was a teenager and we lived across from a cemetery. I used to go there and walk around, reading headstones. It must seem like such an odd place for a teenager to want to be, but it was beautiful and it brought me peace in a way I can’t explain. One morning, I was walking through the cemetery, it had just stopped raining and as I carefully weaved my way through the gravestones, I felt this all-consuming loneliness envelope me. Suddenly it was as though I couldn’t breathe, my vision narrowed and the tears began to tumble down my cheeks like rain. I sat down on the wet grass and cried until there were no more tears. My jeans were wet and I was chilled to the bone but I didn’t care. Sometimes, still today, I miss that cemetery. Even though everyone there was ‘dead’ it somehow made me feel comforted and less alone…maybe that’s because I felt ‘dead and alone’ inside too.

Its overcast here today, clouds hover close to the ground making me feel cold and depressed…in a strange way, my body seems to be telling me that something dreadful is going to happen soon. And I feel the innermost part of my hidden self continues to push forward in a burdensome and wearing way…an uninvited guest arriving at an inopportune time. My body continues to tell me secrets I never wanted to know, and I am held captive, unable to escape. The aching pain inside me, the unmet needs, I am a long way from understanding them, or even endure them. Despite the ‘self-soothing’ skills I have learned, I do not have what I need inside of me to ‘heal’ my pain. I could have enough DBT skills to fill the Atlantic Ocean and it wouldn’t be enough to offset the pain.

And I will forever bear the mark of a woman with a personality disorder, a mood disorder. I will always bear the label of a woman who’s a self-mutilator. I will always carry the brand of ‘****** survivor’ and I will forever take medication just to stay alive. And the paradox is that as much as I abhor those labels, I find that I need them. They are me, they flow through my veins and when no one else is here, they are. Somehow they seem to explain the loneliness and despair. They illuminate why I feel as though I am broken into a million pieces, unable to put myself back together again. But I have nothing concrete to show for this abundance of internal pain. What I have are jagged external scars running from my knees to my thighs, across my abdomen that are a constant reminder of a time I did not choose life over death. Scars that I can hide from others, but I will never be able to hide from myself. What I have are 10 different bottles of medication and a pharmacist who knows me by name.  What I have is sadness captured in a few photos from childhood, hidden in a cardboard box in the corner of the den closet…photos that have bear the fingerprints of someone who wants a normal childhood, even today. What I don’t have, however, is my mind, an ability to trust, or an ability to rationalize and be a ‘normal’ human being. I carry with me a multitude of broken promises scattered on the bathroom floor, mingled with my blood. I look in the mirror and the woman looking back at me isn’t the ‘confident professional’ I pretend to be – in the mirror, without the mask, is the terrified, hurting little girl who has no idea if she is even real.

And every single day I look around and I try to figure out who I am, because at any given moment I could be someone different. I am breathing, I can feel my heart beating – but it isn’t me. It doesn’t matter what ‘self’ I put on to dazzle and charm the crowd, I no longer need my father to remind me that I am unwanted…unloved. There is a voice inside of me, an internal judge, who repeats all my father said to me, over and over again.

I wanted a teacher, a role model, someone to teach me what I never learned. I wanted to believe that they were real and genuine and not like my father. I wanted someone to tell me that I am real and that I do matter. I wanted someone to know all of the people who live within me, and still care. I no longer think that person exists.

A part of me still yearns for openness and being able to share emotions and thoughts with others. Yet I cannot remove the barrier between us.  I sit and I am silent even though in my head I have volumes to share.  I try to hide myself.  I will not let anyone look inside of me.  Even though I know they all want to help, I refuse to let them in and then when I am alone, I sob and ache for refusing. You ask me how I am I tell you I'm fine; I lie to you just as I lie to everyone else.  Even though parts of me beg and plead to tell the truth.  

What would the truth even sound like?
What kind of intimacy would it take to make it possible to speak of such shame and pain?  
What kind of trust would it take to believe they would listen and care and be able to emotionally stay with me?  
Is there such a language?  
No one can answer my questions: Why did he do that to me?  Why didn't my family love me?

So the pain is still here.  And the child Nita uses her childlike logic of wanting to ask for help but not wanting to admit she needs help- and not believing that she would get the help even if she did ask.  That childish logic feeds my thought process and conscious conclusion that my desperate longing to reach out for help is ridiculous and wrong. And anyway, who could possibly tell me that having experienced what I have, having lost what I have, that I could possibly be healed.

I have found myself entangled in untold numbers of dysfunctional situations that, since I knew of no other choice, were by their merely being endured incorporated into my experience database, so to speak. Having not been given the opportunity to engage and integrate normal life-affirming morals and values from the very start I have come to believe that the extremely unconventional condition I find myself in may involve some of the following:

           - I was never introduced to the concepts of love or happiness except by way of a book and even then far too late to make any kind of psychologically important impression. The same could be said for the concepts of friendship, mother, father, other life affirming ideological constructs. It’s all so painful and all so true.

           - I was cruelly abused, physically, sexually, mentally and emotionally, in one way or another by my father, till I was around 10 years old when I thankful removed from his presence. There must have been exceptions but the impressions they have made have been forgotten and overwhelmed by the sheer volume and unrelenting nature of the abuse. And I am sure that since my experience was primarily as being abused, I would not have recognized kindness as such if it had been offered anyway.

Shame and humiliation was so early on directed at and heaped upon my brother and I that we seemed to have made the leap in logic that that was what life was supposed to be for us. Can you imagine a life where shame and humiliation are so prevalent and unremitting, that a child, at least on a conscious level, could not conceive of any other condition to apply to themselves? I am still wrestling with that ghost. The wheels of my mental machinery are still not able to come to comforting answers to questions I am hardly able to frame.

Years later I still struggle to admit to anyone what had happened to me. I lead a life of denial... not knowing any better... deflecting my denial, pain, and my perceived humiliation and shame. With a past full of unspeakable repressed nightmares and a future of more of the same awaiting, I am caught in a toxic existential conundrum of self-doubt, loneliness, self-hate, and hopelessness.
It’s like running from something in the dark that you can’t see. It’s like running from something that you can never admit to running from. I do believe that if I had stopped to look at and confront what was out there I would have been the worse off. Better to run and deny than stop and face a thing that I couldn't face, understand or defend against, without a psychotic break. That is not to say that I was unaffected by the unconscious knowledge of the truth of that denial and flight; it was always ******* my heels. I was reminded of and reinforced in understanding my position in society, day in and day out.

Survival, for me, meant the absolute denial of any other reality in the face of unflagging contempt. Always maintain plausible denial because the truth is a journey into madness.

This journey:
this path I’m on seems ever circular, bringing me back around to the same old lessons that for some strange reason I am just too dense to understand.
There is something I feel I should be learning – or something I need to let go of – or is it grasp? Maybe it’s both…. I don’t know.

I feel like I’m on a roller coaster –
                           one minute I’m strong –
                                              I really believe I can do this…
                                                           ­  the next, I am hiding again…
                                                                ­             allowing myself to be lost in shame and self-hate.

A few months ago, I felt like I took this huge leap forward...
self-care, healing, opening emotional pockets…
knowing full well that I needed to keep reminding myself about the lurking shadows...
the ones who provoke me and make me feel bad even in the midst of making strides forward.

So here I am, feeling those same old feelings of guilt and shame and hatred.
I suppose I know what the shadow is that lurks, but I just don’t know what to do with the shadow. How do I bring it into the light to stay?

My husband tries to use my “achievements” to bolster my confidence, help me shed this bone crushing feeling of self-defeat, but those achievements are a smokescreen – an elaborate, disguise, the stronger I seem, the less likely anyone is to guess what a coward I truly am.
I can fool others- but not myself.

The first time, I lost, it was to him
                      this time, it comes at my own hands….
                                       And that seems to be so much worse...

                                     I can feel myself backsliding …. So much up and down!
                                                           When does it does it stop?
                                                           ­            Does it stop?
The term “survivor” implies a certain level of triumph or victory. The term ‘victim’ carries connotation of guiltless submission. I am neither a survivor nor a victim. I am a fraud, a shell of a person hidden inside a carefully constructed facade. I have not triumphed over my past, and the damage it continues to cause is due to my own personal failure to set it aside. I have managed to surrender my whole identity because I lack the courage to claim my truth.

Healing is a lot like daylight savings time...
                        fall back, spring forward, over and over and over again.
                                                    It makes me dizzy, sick to my stomach and depressed...
                                                    ­                                                                a­ll of this back and forth.

                                                  Now I feel the path has once again ended
                                                           ­  and I am left standing alone.

******-Angry girl took over last night. She is explosive with rage and it is fierce and uncontrolled. She physically and verbally abuses the little girl inside of me, and although she is not a threat to anyone but us, she does like to verbally abuse Dear Therapist, via email. Sometimes a few months will go by without her taking over, sometimes only a few weeks, but she has been present since Monday, relentlessly torturing the rest of us. She wants to die. She cannot handle the pain, the past is overwhelming and she knows of no other way out. She strongly believes that Dear Therapist manipulated the 5 year old into trusting him, and then once he declared victory of getting the untrustable to trust, he decided he could just take off and not be there for her. And Angry Girl HATES Dear Therapist for that! Because after all these years of independence and never relying on anyone to help or “be there”, now the baby who cries for Dear Therapist’s help at night, drives us f#%king crazy!

Not only did ******-Angry girl cut me last night, she sent some emails to Dear Therapist. Emails that were discovered today when I checked my sent file. ******-Angry Girl wants to cut the whiny baby out of my body. She hates her. She wants Dear Therapist to go away. She hates him too.

Below is an excerpt from the emails sent to Dear Therapist. It’s ******-Angry Girl’s anger that scares me. She will **** me…it’s only a matter of time. She won’t stop until it happens. She has no will to live she wants only to escape the endless pain.

Angry ****** Girl: I am not fearful of death. ******* welcome it! Hope u enjoyed ur vacation! Thanks for caring and taking my "fear" seriously" (huge amounts of dripping poisonous sarcasm!) Ur so great and I'm so nothing! So I shouldn't be missed! and I guess ur "best" doesn't include calling me bk n 24 hrs- does it? For future reference, get a ******* back-up! There will be times when the "crazy" clients can't wait for a week to ******* deal w/a "non-existent" fear!!! **** u and ur ******* rose colored glasses! I'm not afraid of ******* dying! Dying will be a ******* relief!!! **** that man! **** that sorry man who calls himself Dad! He ******* Ruined all of it! ******* hate u! I ******* hate u and ur ******* "stay present"! U ******* stay present in my body every ******* nite! I ******* told u it was bad! But as usual, u blew me off "it’s only 3 emails" no big deal" **** u!!! It may not be a big deal to u, but it was a huge ******* deal to me!!! But **** it! Obviously that wasn't impt to u! Becuz I don't matter! Nothing here that can hurt me right now!?!?U go ahead and believe that - w/ur rose colored glasses on, dear therapist- becuz he will **** me. And when he does, don't ******* preach "theresz nothing that can hurt u right now, Nita" nothing. Ur so ******* wrong about that! In fact, I'm offended tht u even said it! How contradictory of u! "ur fear is real to u- I've nvr said it isn’t" Really? That's not what ur ******* saying now!? I hope when I'm dead u don't preach that **** to someone else. I hope if someone else comes to u and tells u he's going to **** her u ******* think about me and what happened to me- and ******* believe it! Becuz it IS real right the **** now!!!! It is ******* real!!! This could not have worked out better! ******* ***** is aware that u don't hear her now- so she won't tell anything! We are done- I can cut her out of her misery! Finally!!!

It will never stop. There is no way it will ever stop. I am discouraged and hurting. There is no escape. There are no answers. There is nothing but this endless pain. And he doesn’t care. I tried to tell him, but he doesn’t listen. It’s worse when he’s gone. And he can kiss my *** with his “Put it in a safe container” – HELLO!!!! There’s no way to contain it! It’s like trying to put pour rain back into a cloud! Why the hell can’t he see that? There’s no way to ‘check’ the pain at the door when I ******* leave his office! It’s ******* Hotel California! There is no escape! I cannot leave.

Dear Diary, can you see me?
Can you feel the pain I feel?
Can you feel the pain through my words?
Will my heart and soul ever heal?
Dear Diary, can you tell me,
Why I feel so sad?
Why my father did this?
Destroyed all I had.
Dear Diary, can you help me?
Can you erase my life?
Can you make me happy?
Erase all my strife?
Dear Diary, are you there?
Can you set my spirit free?
Can you **** me, Dear Diary?
Can you make it ok to 'be'?
Dear Diary, can you help me?

As a child I did not know whether it was the act itself or the knowledge that I was the receptacle for malevolence and cruelty that made me so vulnerable. At first I thought it was God's punishment for something I had done. I took an inventory, desperately seeking the deed that triggered the retribution. But I could not identify a single act. Even my accumulated errors, transgressions and unkindness’s did not exact the cost. Then I understood: if I could not isolate a deed, or pattern of deeds, commanding the punishment, it must be me. It is not what I did. It is who I was...a fundamentally, intrinsically and irredeemably bad little girl. I negotiated my adolescence and early adulthood with the mathematical symbol for "less than" (<) attached.

I would like to be able to write that I am no longer negotiating my adulthood with the same mathematical symbol attached. But that would be a lie. It is pervasive. It is formidable. And if I do not keep it contained, I am so afraid it will be debilitating….I've been down that road a time or two. At times it has enveloped me, penetrating my pores and drowning everything essential and vital inside.

Undisturbed, it is docile, sated. But aroused by even the slightest hint of beauty or strength or grace it is a painful reminder that I am...somehow...contemptible...that I am still fundamentally, intrinsically and incorrigibly...what? Flawed, imperfect & bad? You may say, "But we are all flawed and imperfect. And our flaws and imperfections make us more interesting...more truly beautiful...more human." And perhaps you are right, but this inexorable deprivation makes me somehow subhuman... less than human...permanently broken. I am a receptacle for malice.

I skillfully deflect praise directed my way, an effort to soothe the inescapable conflict inside. Moderate praise induces a subtle twinge of embarrassment; more effusive praise incites the consuming and agonizing feeling that I am irreparably damaged, hopelessly broken. It has contaminated, compromised and diminished every accomplishment, soiled every success. People sometimes tell me that I am humble and that it is an admirable trait. But the modesty and humility they identify helps me to mask the mortification stirring inside. I have gotten so good at hiding it from others that I have nearly learned to conceal it even from myself.

At least that is what it feels like...right now.

I cannot figure out how to unplug the Emotional Pin-Ball Game.
And I am finished playing for now!

There are nights when I am absolutely afraid to move. Anxiety and fear ~ my current nemesis. Like, one night, when I was on the phone with the therapist and he was telling me to get up and do something, I could not do it. And it was not because I was trying (in that very moment) to be argumentative and defiant, it was literally because my body was frozen and I could not move. And he seemed frustrated, which I understand, as he was trying to help me, and it’s not like he could grab my arm and physically move me (not that he would do that in his office either, but I suspect it’s a little bit easier for him to deal with me in that situation when we are in the same room). It’s so difficult for me to communicate at that point.

Right now I am in this space where I really wonder how I can continue to live up to the person everyone thinks that I am. Who is this person that everyone has created in their minds with my name attached to it? This person that people are praising and say that I am doing great things…Why can I not see the Nita that they see?? I look in the mirror and see constant failure and disappointment.

And I have to say that I am not really in the position right now to be all warrior-like and face all of it head-on. It is really one of those days when I want to curl up in a fetal position with a heating pad and pull the covers over my head. Even though the therapist would say that isn’t a good idea for me to hide myself away from all human contact…I still want too. I don’t have any desires to hurt myself; I’m just tired and I don’t want to be all happy and sunshiny for other people right now.

My body hurts today. On top of my normal Crohn’s issues that I battle daily…my weak body has fallen to pneumonia. So for 6 days now I have been rotating from coughing to not being able to breathe…oh and let’s throw in a Crohn’s fare up at the same time. Way more fun than one person should be allowed to have.  

WAH! I’m sure it’s all “emotional” overload, right? I feel like a pin-ball machine…hit the emotional ball and see where it bounces around and what part of my body it hits! *Headache/dizziness: 100 points. Abdominal pain: 50 points. Nausea/vomiting: 150 points. Insomnia: 200 points.  Cramps/bleeding: 300 points. Coughing fit: 500 points. Uncontrollable shaking or inability to move at all: 1000 bonus points.

The storm clouds have been hovering all day and now the darkness has closed in. The dark portentous clouds that have been looming ominously overhead have finally rolled in with the force of a category 4 hurricane. My body no longer feels like it belongs to me. Even little things are such an effort. I feel ravaged by the torrential rain and devastating winds of the hurricane.

The burly winds have destroyed lawn furniture and sent backyard grills reeling from decks and porches – they have scattered tumbleweeds across the plains…the ability to keep your eyes open in the midst of the flying dirt and dust has diminished. I am blowing in the wind…tossed like the tumbleweeds. I am constantly fighting the winds of depression, fear, sadness, hopelessness and tonight my overwhelming feelings are a force to be reckoned with!

Sleep fails to bring relief…the darkness invades my sleep, my dreams….I fight sleep – fear it, even. And when I do sleep, I talk and moan, thrash around and whimper frequently. I wake up multiple times a night from a nightmare only to find a broken compass and an inability to navigate myself from the past back to the present.

So much of it is irrational – and the small, logical voice inside of me tells me that – but the logical part of me cannot overpower, or balance, the other irrational, illogical voices of the terrified children trapped inside my mind and my body. I know I'm not in control. All the drive and spirit and determination that made me ME has been drained from me and most of the time I just feel like a rag doll….just do with me what you will…I'll just wait here.

And I have these horrible thoughts…what if I took a few extra sleeping pills, anxiety med…maybe chase them down with the ***** in the freezer…..

It's not about suicide….although I'll admit I have fleeting thoughts that death would be easier on everyone around me who suffer with me, despite my trying to keep it all inside of me. But it isn't about suicide – it's about making it stop! And I know that sounds sick…

I have always been strong, a fighter! Always! And certainly I've been through worse than this…… But I hate this! I hate the panicky feeling when I wake up from a nightmare and I'm in a state of half-consciousness. I hate the overwhelming feelings of rage that make me lash out at those undeserving and sometimes unsuspecting souls. I hate the external scars I've inflicted upon myself. I hate that I have these overwhelming urges to hurt myself and I sometimes act on those urges and then suffer the feelings of guilt and shame that come afterward. I hate that I've given them my joy and that means they win! I hate feeling and acting like a child! I hate the memories, and the crying and all of the feelings, feelings, feelings!!!!!!! I hate it! All of it!

I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm in such a state of darkness tonight and I need something to renew my courage, to get back my determination and drive. Now I feel like my body and mind have been taken over by a poltergeist! It’s all fear & darkness now.

There is thunder, and wind and lightening and hail raging in my head and I'm caught in this storm with no protection, no umbrella, no coat or boots.

I am so tired just trying to survive… I don't have the energy to live

When I was a child I just focused on surviving.
Now I am sick of working so hard to survive…when do I get to just live?
Not relive… live.

How do you find the balance? How do you let yourself feel and not become overwhelmed? How do you listen to the hurt ones and not blame them, feel too much, and become incapacitated by them?

Both Sunday and Monday nights I found myself so overwhelmed with the pain that I was lying on the bathroom floor in a full-fledged panic attack; alternating between shaking uncontrollably and hitting my head on the floor, to pacing the floor considering ways to **** myself. In that moment, anything, including death, is better than living like that night after night. Major crazybrain freak outs both nights!

I feel so far away from myself. Each morning, after a night of dissociation fear and destruction, I try to put myself back together again. But each time I break apart, it gets harder and harder to fit the pieces back together again. Somewhere in the midst of these nightmares I lost my soul. I am not connected to this soulless body… it is merely a carrier for my traumatized brain. I feel tangled inside a mind I cannot escape.

Every night so many voices, so much confusion. His face before me, his hands on my body, his breath breathing on my neck. She takes a step back to avoid contact with him. She cries out. He advances toward her. She takes another step back, retreats further into the dark abyss waiting for another to help with the pain. Hopeless. She reaches out faintly while being overtaken by the memories boiling over. Step back! Get back! Step back! Get away! Over and over, night after night. Shame. The unspoken pain and shame.  What happens when it truly becomes so overwhelming that it does **** me?

I find myself standing before the gates of hell. It is here, in this place of fear and pain, that I must fight my battles and face my enemies. The smell engulfs me…the stench of ignorance and glutting fill the air. The wind blows with the sounds of nothingness and you destroy who I was and I try to hold back who I want to be.

It is before the gates of hell I face you. My blood flows with each blow I allow you to make. My adrenaline pumps with each strike and contact. Vengefulness lingers in my heart. My body is hot while my skin is cold to the touch. With each thought I relive the pain you inflicted on me. I bleed from the wounds you made. My heart aches and my soul cries out.

I stand alone, here at the gates of hell. No one to have my back. No one to put you in your place. I stand alone to fight a battle I ignored for many years. Trying to erase the marks you left on my body. Trying to eliminate the scars you put in my memories. Blocking out the sounds when I said NO and you refused to hear me.

I stand here at the gates of hell; alone, cowering, crying, and searching for someone to hold me, to tell me all will be okay, to keep me safe, and help me up when I fall. Someone who will be there for me when I seek help.

It is at the gates of hell I throw my punches, scream my brains outs, and there is nothing but silence and emptiness. My punches make no impact, my screams have no sound. It is here at the gates of hell I stand.

                                                                     *My own personal hell.

When I am told things like,
“The adult part of you needs to step it up and return …This has to happen NOW!”
                                                                      - it feels like everything that’s going on inside of me…
                                                                                   the pain,
                                                                                        the nightmares,
                                                                                             the helplessness,
                                                                                                 the hopelessness,
                                                                                                      the anger,
                                                                                                            the sadness,
                                                                                                                  the fear…
                                                                                                                                    isn’t even real.
It makes me feel like I’m so inadequate and a failure and over-dramatic. It makes me feel like you think it’s all in my head and I have the power to just stop all of it and if I would just “step up” and use that power – I’d be HEALED! Yea Me! And I wonder why I don’t feel that way – why I still feel so much pain. Because of your invalidation I doubt my feelings, what happens to me, because I “choose” this because I want to feel this way. I must be a stubborn ridiculous drama because I can’t just “summon” the adult to take over when ****** chick’s in charge. "Just figure it out, Nita! You’re such a whiny baby…come on! Get over it! Deal with it…” That’s what it sounds like. AGAIN! I’ve told you that there are times when I CAN do it – but there are just as many times I can’t!

I am not asking you to ‘understand’ it – or say you ‘understand’ it – that’s not possible. But it isn’t that easy to just “summon the internal ‘rational’ Nita”– and it’s overwhelming and it feels like a boulder has fallen on top of me and there’s no strength to lift it off. And I don’t want to die – but I fear every night that the ****** angry Nita is going to **** me… that one night, she is going to be in charge, and the ‘tools’ I have presently are not going to work, nobody is going to be ‘available’ and it’s going to be the wrong night…and it’s going to be my last night. That’s real to me. Let me say this again. I DON’T WANT TO DIE! ME! I DON’T WANT TO DIE! But she does – because it doesn’t stop. And she can’t make it go away nor will she relinquish control. Not right now. Let me say this again, too: I do NOT expect you to understand how horrific it really is those nights.

                                           You couldn’t possibly because :
                                                         1. You aren’t ‘living/experiencing’ it.
                                                         2. If you did understand, you wouldn’t tell me to “step it up
                                                            and take charge” because you would understand that it isn’t
                                                            even possible to do that.

I know that you have tolerated my pain for a long, long, very long time. And I am immeasurably grateful. I do feel the love and acceptance in your compassion and hope and commitment to our friendship. However, at the same time I feel so disconnected from you and unsure how to respond to such feelings. I wish I knew why and how to fix that. And I know that all the ‘pain and fear’ is not going to let up any time soon and I am so exhausted I don’t know how much more I can survive, or if I even want to. It’s so depressing that some days I cannot even move and I want to die just to get some relief!

Tonight the pain in my head is excruciating – it travels down the back of my neck into my abdomen – and nothing touches it. I desperately want to hurt myself tonight. It will make it stop – at least temporarily. I bite the inside of my lip until blood flows – trying not to do further damage.
There are voices all talking at once now, and at this moment, I don’t know if I will be here tomorrow, or if I am what state of mind I will be in.

I am so lost right now. I have tried to believe that it won’t always be this way but I feel so depleted and hopeless. I cannot take care of myself right now. I want to be alone but when I’m alone, with no one to distract me, or talk to me, the piercing truth of my reality cuts into my heart and burns through my soul. I am so drained I cannot even think straight. My heart aches….this is the roughest patch I’ve hit and I can’t believe I’m still alive.

The pain I feel is unexplainable. I’m so tired and frustrated and I feel like it’s all just too complex to deal with. Too multifarious for me to understand…and the therapist would say, “It’s not, it’s so common and understandable, and you can do this…just keep on keeping on.” But he’s wrong. Clearly he doesn't understand…I can assure you…I am dying more every day.

Oh, wait, I’m a “survivor”, right? I forgot. I have tried to collaborate my shattered thinking to form some rational simplicity from my emotional intricacy. I’ve tried to understand. But my mouth forms words my brain is unable to process. What I do understand is that the human mind and body shields a child from the horrible truth so the child can survive. She can survive but not realize how she has been shaped, altered, wounded, until she grows up to become a woman and it gets so bad that she feels like she’s nothing, nobody, worthless. I understand that because I had no idea how much he really shaped who I am today. I feel nameless, fragmented, unlovable because I cannot love myself. He cut me into pieces…so many pieces I don’t know which pieces belong to “me” and which belong to “him”. I cannot sort through them.

See, now I am afraid that the only way I see this working for me is to shut down completely. I really do not know how else to do it, the “feelings” are just too big and overwhelming for me right now. I barely make it week to week, day to day, really. I do not have a good support system in place right now. So much is happening inside of me and I don’t want to rely others, I don’t want to “count on” others for support…

I’m struck by how little my life has become. I am afraid and I can’t even tell anyone. Afraid and overwhelmed by what goes on inside my head and my body. So big, so real, so much stronger than what is outside of me. So sharp…I feel it, cutting me, stabbing me, with its serrated razor-sharp pieces. It’s painful…