A friend told me yesterday that it has been agonizing to watch me claw my way through all the conflicting emotions I feel. She said she can tell when I'm overwhelmed by them. She said she wishes she could help. I have never confided in her about what I feel, and I've told her very little about the things that have been happening in my life over the past 18 months. I was sort of offended that she would make a personal comment like that when I have never invited her to be a part of my life. I was also a little bit gratified that she cared enough to notice--more conflict.
I recognized, about three months ago, that I was experiencing less clarity of thought, decreased ability to make decisions about my emotional needs, and huge conflict in my feelings and desires. It was, and is, not unusual for me to feel simultaneously the need to be held and comforted along with an extreme desire to be left alone. I'm dying for help from someone--anyone--and more than likely I'll end up slapping away any metaphorically outstretched hand. "Agonizing to watch..." said my friend...imagine how it feels.
I'm trying to understand why this is happening. I know it's not emotionally healthy for me to say, "Please care about me deeply, and then go away and leave me alone." I've allowed more emotional intimacy with more people this year than ever before in my life--not just virtually, but also in person. I've allowed physical touch from people other than my husband--not just quick hug-and-step-away stuff--but real, honest, communicative touch. I've even allowed hand touching for longer than a Mormon handshake, with one person. And what my therapist(s) have told me is true--there is greater communication when people touch while talking. It's not that I've never touched people before, I've just never allowed them to touch me.
So now I'm trying to process all this emotional intimacy/non-sexual physical touch stuff, and it's messing me up inside. For whatever reason, it seems impossible for me to just accept that certain things are. I have to know why, what it means to me, personally, and how I will use it in my life. So I've been digging around, trying to figure things out and I've come up with exactly zero answers.
In the meantime, I believe I've been taking my frustration out on my friends. So I'm going to explain my feelings--and then, if you're one of those lucky people, you'll know why I'm acting like a crazy person:
1. I feel that for the first time in my life, I actually need other people.
2. There are specific needs I have for each person in my life. These may include needing to feel loved, accepted, respected. They may even include a desire to be hugged or held. I have not felt these needs since I was in my early teens. To have them return now is disconcerting.
3. I feel horribly guilty that I need these things. I want to be able to accept any friendship offered and just float along until we get bored of one another. I don't want to muddy the waters by "needing" anything--especially when that might make the other person uneasy or uncomfortable. I also feel that there's something wrong with me because I want something, emotionally, from a friend.
4. In the midst of all this, I feel an extreme need to be independent. If someone offers to help, I'll probably say no--even though I'm dying to say yes.
5. Because of all the guilt, neediness, and assertive independence, I feel a compelling need to isolate myself--perhaps on a desert island until I die.
After reviewing all the evidence above, I have come to the only possible conclusion. In spite of the chronological and physical data to the contrary, I have just turned three years old. There is no other explanation for my behavior and feelings. And don't argue with me about this...three-year-olds hate to be wrong.
Showing posts with label PTSD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PTSD. Show all posts
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Warning; I never swear except in this post, Part Three
Actually, I'm finished with swearing and there isn't anymore, but this is a continuation of the previous post, so I'm keeping the title.
Following that online conversation, I actually talked with a couple of other trusted friends, revealing the extent and nature of the abuse and allowing myself to express anger about it. Their reactions were similarly accepting, loving, and supportive. I was surprised. This led me to an exploration of my feelings about Person One. I had not realized how much I despised this part of me. I did a lot of writing, and for the first time, I shared some of that with close friends, allowing them to see what I was thinking and feeling.
I told more people. Some of them took it well, and wanted to be of help. Others expressed their inability to cope with the nature of what I was talking about. Rather than feeling rejected by them, I felt I understood them--relating to my feelings of abhorrence when I first began confronting the problems of my past. Some of those who stepped back, have since come back to touch bases and find out how I'm doing. I'm realizing that people cope in different ways, and I'm working on not taking personally things that are not aimed at me. It has been a welcome surprise to have those who were appalled by my past, return to try to support me as I work through things.
There have also been some who have been solidly behind me for many months. Without wavering, they've listened to what I've needed to say, offered physical and virtual support, and loved me no matter what. This has been extremely important as I try to understand my own beliefs about my self-worth and feelings of guilt. Also, at this point, my parents and all of my siblings know of the abuse I suffered (although I haven't told them details--the time for that has not come, and it may never be the right thing to tell them), and three of the seven siblings also know of my sexual orientation.
A large part of all this, but also the newest part, has been the process of learning to cope with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and all it's side-effects. I have finally finished researching the illness and understand how it affects my everyday life. With Tolkien Boy's help (which he has offered for more than eight months--even though I asked for it for "two to three weeks"--silly me!), I've once again been able to control my nightmares and get some sleep. And in spite of my recent visit to the hospital's "Behavioral Health Unit", I feel better today than I have in more than a year.
I've noted some interesting things as I feel stronger:
1. My feelings are much more level--sometimes I worry that I'm reverting to my past numbness. But I don't really think that's it. I think I'm just not a highly emotional person. I cope with emotion slowly and methodically. I'm not ignoring things, or burying them, just waiting until I can process without interruption.
2. I don't feel the desperate need for human interaction that I've felt over the past year. I don't think this means that I'm less interested in friends or wanting to become isolated. I've always been happy in my own company, and I don't feel lonely when I'm alone. Solitude is important to me. I seek out other people, still, fairly regularly, but I can't deny who I am or force myself to be who I'm not. I spend more time with my chat windows off, not because I'm avoiding people, but because I'm thinking, processing, and at this point I need to do that without as much input from others. I have to know what I think. But if you've given me ideas, advice, or help of any kind, you should know that I'm thinking of that, as well. It's time for me to put everything together, and that requires quiet thought.
3. There is an amazing feeling of peace when I reflect on my past. I've met the man who abused me. That meeting was rather horrible, but also amazing, because I'm no longer afraid of him. There are two reasons for this, one is that he's just sort of a pathetic, middle-aged man, the second is that I arranged, met with, and controlled that meeting by myself--and thanked God that in the restaurant, Tolkien Boy's hand pushed me forward when I actually caught my first glimpse of my cousin and wanted to turn and run away. However, I did complete the meeting, and the times that I view myself as less than dirt are much less frequent. I'm slowly coming to realize that I'm okay, I'm not a contagious disease, and that good, worthwhile people actually care about me regardless of my past, but also as a result of past events, because those who love me want me to become whole.
4. Many of the overwhelming yearnings I've had are becoming more level. The urge to cut seems to have gone away. I'm eating well and had gained at least 10 pounds at my last weigh-in (and I look normal). For awhile there was a gnawing need to find a source of non-sexual touch outside of those who are related to me by blood or marriage (the ones who have to love me--it's required). That need was making me feel more dependent than was comfortable for me. I fought against it in every way I could devise. When I finally gave in, asked someone if he was willing to provide that for me, and accepted his affirmative answer, the need seemed to diminish. Today, it feels non-existant. For me, that's an amazing relief, because if someone hugs or holds me, I want it to be a mutually beneficial experience. If it happens because I'm horribly needy, I'd rather be dead. I know, extreme, but I'm just expressing how I feel.
5. I'm still an overachieving nut-case. I think I always will be. There are many things I thought would change as I've explored my past. The truth is that while I was definitely affected by the things that happened, most of who I am today is based on the person I would have become under any circumstances. The difference is that now I no longer despise the little girl who was trapped and harmed. I don't hate her for not seeking help--she didn't know how. I don't blame her for not making the abuse stop--it was not in her power. I do wish she hadn't had to endure the sadness and pain--rather, I wish I had not had to endure it. That is something I will always wish. But I also know that my life today is beautiful.
I am left with memories, occasional nightmares, and a trauma disorder. I have found friendship, courage, love and self-worth. I discovered a part of myself I had ignored. For months I watched her, nightly, as she coped with pain, cleaned up the mess, and longed for love. Vicariously, I gave that to her as I controlled my nightmares, and with his permission, used help from Tolkien Boy who held her as she slept, and eventually helped her to stop the abuse altogether. I have seen how she survived and grew into a successful businesswoman, creative musician, mother, and wife. Who can despise that? I can no longer.
Following that online conversation, I actually talked with a couple of other trusted friends, revealing the extent and nature of the abuse and allowing myself to express anger about it. Their reactions were similarly accepting, loving, and supportive. I was surprised. This led me to an exploration of my feelings about Person One. I had not realized how much I despised this part of me. I did a lot of writing, and for the first time, I shared some of that with close friends, allowing them to see what I was thinking and feeling.
I told more people. Some of them took it well, and wanted to be of help. Others expressed their inability to cope with the nature of what I was talking about. Rather than feeling rejected by them, I felt I understood them--relating to my feelings of abhorrence when I first began confronting the problems of my past. Some of those who stepped back, have since come back to touch bases and find out how I'm doing. I'm realizing that people cope in different ways, and I'm working on not taking personally things that are not aimed at me. It has been a welcome surprise to have those who were appalled by my past, return to try to support me as I work through things.
There have also been some who have been solidly behind me for many months. Without wavering, they've listened to what I've needed to say, offered physical and virtual support, and loved me no matter what. This has been extremely important as I try to understand my own beliefs about my self-worth and feelings of guilt. Also, at this point, my parents and all of my siblings know of the abuse I suffered (although I haven't told them details--the time for that has not come, and it may never be the right thing to tell them), and three of the seven siblings also know of my sexual orientation.
A large part of all this, but also the newest part, has been the process of learning to cope with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and all it's side-effects. I have finally finished researching the illness and understand how it affects my everyday life. With Tolkien Boy's help (which he has offered for more than eight months--even though I asked for it for "two to three weeks"--silly me!), I've once again been able to control my nightmares and get some sleep. And in spite of my recent visit to the hospital's "Behavioral Health Unit", I feel better today than I have in more than a year.
I've noted some interesting things as I feel stronger:
1. My feelings are much more level--sometimes I worry that I'm reverting to my past numbness. But I don't really think that's it. I think I'm just not a highly emotional person. I cope with emotion slowly and methodically. I'm not ignoring things, or burying them, just waiting until I can process without interruption.
2. I don't feel the desperate need for human interaction that I've felt over the past year. I don't think this means that I'm less interested in friends or wanting to become isolated. I've always been happy in my own company, and I don't feel lonely when I'm alone. Solitude is important to me. I seek out other people, still, fairly regularly, but I can't deny who I am or force myself to be who I'm not. I spend more time with my chat windows off, not because I'm avoiding people, but because I'm thinking, processing, and at this point I need to do that without as much input from others. I have to know what I think. But if you've given me ideas, advice, or help of any kind, you should know that I'm thinking of that, as well. It's time for me to put everything together, and that requires quiet thought.
3. There is an amazing feeling of peace when I reflect on my past. I've met the man who abused me. That meeting was rather horrible, but also amazing, because I'm no longer afraid of him. There are two reasons for this, one is that he's just sort of a pathetic, middle-aged man, the second is that I arranged, met with, and controlled that meeting by myself--and thanked God that in the restaurant, Tolkien Boy's hand pushed me forward when I actually caught my first glimpse of my cousin and wanted to turn and run away. However, I did complete the meeting, and the times that I view myself as less than dirt are much less frequent. I'm slowly coming to realize that I'm okay, I'm not a contagious disease, and that good, worthwhile people actually care about me regardless of my past, but also as a result of past events, because those who love me want me to become whole.
4. Many of the overwhelming yearnings I've had are becoming more level. The urge to cut seems to have gone away. I'm eating well and had gained at least 10 pounds at my last weigh-in (and I look normal). For awhile there was a gnawing need to find a source of non-sexual touch outside of those who are related to me by blood or marriage (the ones who have to love me--it's required). That need was making me feel more dependent than was comfortable for me. I fought against it in every way I could devise. When I finally gave in, asked someone if he was willing to provide that for me, and accepted his affirmative answer, the need seemed to diminish. Today, it feels non-existant. For me, that's an amazing relief, because if someone hugs or holds me, I want it to be a mutually beneficial experience. If it happens because I'm horribly needy, I'd rather be dead. I know, extreme, but I'm just expressing how I feel.
5. I'm still an overachieving nut-case. I think I always will be. There are many things I thought would change as I've explored my past. The truth is that while I was definitely affected by the things that happened, most of who I am today is based on the person I would have become under any circumstances. The difference is that now I no longer despise the little girl who was trapped and harmed. I don't hate her for not seeking help--she didn't know how. I don't blame her for not making the abuse stop--it was not in her power. I do wish she hadn't had to endure the sadness and pain--rather, I wish I had not had to endure it. That is something I will always wish. But I also know that my life today is beautiful.
I am left with memories, occasional nightmares, and a trauma disorder. I have found friendship, courage, love and self-worth. I discovered a part of myself I had ignored. For months I watched her, nightly, as she coped with pain, cleaned up the mess, and longed for love. Vicariously, I gave that to her as I controlled my nightmares, and with his permission, used help from Tolkien Boy who held her as she slept, and eventually helped her to stop the abuse altogether. I have seen how she survived and grew into a successful businesswoman, creative musician, mother, and wife. Who can despise that? I can no longer.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Giving In
Isn't it interesting that even though I know what to do, even though I know what will solve my current problem, even though I know where to turn for help, I still don't want to do it? It's difficult to rewire impulses that have been practiced for many years.
I'm back at square one with the nightmares. I have to accept help and start doing my daily/nightly work to be able to control what I see. I've been putting it off, or just going through the motions because the person I need to help me is also the current agressor in my dreams--which really sucks. So...I let myself hit rock bottom. I did the debate about whether to take the medication which will repress my nightmares for the rest of my life. Then I realized that if I don't at least try to work through this, I will regret it, and I'll be left with the memory of a nightmare I really wish to change.
So starting this morning I began to lay the groundwork for dream direction. I'll work on it the rest of this week. I do lots of writing, and visualization. I've spent hours talking with Tolkien Boy, trying to reestablish the trust threshold that's been destroyed by the stupid nightmares. I'll be doing meditation before bed (along with a whole lot of prayer). If the pattern follows my first attempt at this, I'll be exhausted for the first couple of nights, and then it will get easier. And I'll stop making excuses to not accept help, swallow my pride and take what's offered because it's not forever, and I will become stronger because of it.
I just wish I didn't have to go through all the crap I put myself through before I can become humble enough to realize I really can't do this by myself, and even if it makes me the most needy person in the world, sometimes I just have to accept that I don't have super powers. It would be nice, though...
Wish me luck? Pray for me? Light a candle? Cast a spell? Hey, as long as I'm accepting help--I'll take it from whatever source it may come.
I'm back at square one with the nightmares. I have to accept help and start doing my daily/nightly work to be able to control what I see. I've been putting it off, or just going through the motions because the person I need to help me is also the current agressor in my dreams--which really sucks. So...I let myself hit rock bottom. I did the debate about whether to take the medication which will repress my nightmares for the rest of my life. Then I realized that if I don't at least try to work through this, I will regret it, and I'll be left with the memory of a nightmare I really wish to change.
So starting this morning I began to lay the groundwork for dream direction. I'll work on it the rest of this week. I do lots of writing, and visualization. I've spent hours talking with Tolkien Boy, trying to reestablish the trust threshold that's been destroyed by the stupid nightmares. I'll be doing meditation before bed (along with a whole lot of prayer). If the pattern follows my first attempt at this, I'll be exhausted for the first couple of nights, and then it will get easier. And I'll stop making excuses to not accept help, swallow my pride and take what's offered because it's not forever, and I will become stronger because of it.
I just wish I didn't have to go through all the crap I put myself through before I can become humble enough to realize I really can't do this by myself, and even if it makes me the most needy person in the world, sometimes I just have to accept that I don't have super powers. It would be nice, though...
Wish me luck? Pray for me? Light a candle? Cast a spell? Hey, as long as I'm accepting help--I'll take it from whatever source it may come.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Things to do in lieu of sleep
1. Fold laundry. This is a quiet activity that will disturb no one.
2. Blog. Be aware that all blog entries written after 3:00 a.m. will sound slightly insane.
3. Go jogging.
4. Take a drive. This is especially fun after 1:00 a.m. because all the stop lights become blinking yellows.
5. Contemplate doorbell ditching the entire neighborhood. Then recall that you're no longer a teenager and the neighbors are less likely to laugh than to call the police.
6. Lay in the grass and stargaze. Think about how the stars would look if arranged in symmetrical stripe patterns across the sky.
7. Wish there was someone to talk to. Talk to self, instead. DO NOT CHAT. Anyone awake at this hour will be going to bed soon, which you will find terribly depressing.
8. Tell self a fun story. Enjoy one's creativity and cleverness. Remember that the story will be much less entertaining to people who actually sleep.
9. Tell self funny jokes. Laugh hysterically. Quietly, of course. Other people are sleeping.
10. Wish for sleep. Wish for no dreams. Above all, do not cry.
2. Blog. Be aware that all blog entries written after 3:00 a.m. will sound slightly insane.
3. Go jogging.
4. Take a drive. This is especially fun after 1:00 a.m. because all the stop lights become blinking yellows.
5. Contemplate doorbell ditching the entire neighborhood. Then recall that you're no longer a teenager and the neighbors are less likely to laugh than to call the police.
6. Lay in the grass and stargaze. Think about how the stars would look if arranged in symmetrical stripe patterns across the sky.
7. Wish there was someone to talk to. Talk to self, instead. DO NOT CHAT. Anyone awake at this hour will be going to bed soon, which you will find terribly depressing.
8. Tell self a fun story. Enjoy one's creativity and cleverness. Remember that the story will be much less entertaining to people who actually sleep.
9. Tell self funny jokes. Laugh hysterically. Quietly, of course. Other people are sleeping.
10. Wish for sleep. Wish for no dreams. Above all, do not cry.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tired
One of the many contributors to my decision to visit the psyche ward, was a shift in my recurrent nightmares. I've had so much success with directing my dreams, so when they changed suddenly, and without my permission, I didn't know how to proceed. My collaborator in my dream work suddenly became the person within those nightmares who was hurting me. I was distressed and frustrated. It was a huge relief when I was told that this is not an unexpected side-effect of the PTSD, and I could take steps to regain control or choose medication to suppress the dreams.
I spent many hours, one-on-one with a therapist, being instructed and planning steps to change my dreams. One of the things about which the therapist and both psychiatrists were adamant: I had to continue to develop my friendship/relationship with my dream partner, and use his help in guiding the new dream scenarios. There were two reasons for this:
1. People who have PTSD have difficulty fostering and maintaining relationships that have any degree of closeness. If I was able to recover from the feelings I'd been having which made me want to end my friendship, and continue to use that friendship to help me, I'd be on my way to growing beyond this. I'm already an anomaly, in that I've been able to maintain my marriage for many years (I blame SSA). Many people who experience PTSD have multiple marriages and sexual partners. They rarely remain in a relationship long enough to establish emotional intimacy which is vital for good emotional/mental health.
2. My collaborator already has a background helping me deal with it. It took us about three months to make everything work. To find someone else with the desire and willingness to learn about my needs and help me with them would be very difficult--and sort of stupid since it's not necessary.
So I did as I was instructed, and my friend and I have once again embarked on the dream direction journey. But I'm feeling unhappy about it all. I don't like having to rely on anyone, but if I don't do the exercises with him each night, I sincerely regret it when I fall asleep. It makes me feel inordinately dependent, and helpless.
I've been trying to alternate a couple of nights when we do the exercises together, with a couple where I do them alone. This has not been successful.
Once again, I'm getting really tired and discouraged. Honestly, I just want to sleep. I don't want to bother anyone each night, in order to get that rest. I've tried working with Darrin a bit, but he's too close to me, which probably doesn't make sense, but is true, nonetheless.
I'm going to go try this on my own, once again. Wish me luck.
I spent many hours, one-on-one with a therapist, being instructed and planning steps to change my dreams. One of the things about which the therapist and both psychiatrists were adamant: I had to continue to develop my friendship/relationship with my dream partner, and use his help in guiding the new dream scenarios. There were two reasons for this:
1. People who have PTSD have difficulty fostering and maintaining relationships that have any degree of closeness. If I was able to recover from the feelings I'd been having which made me want to end my friendship, and continue to use that friendship to help me, I'd be on my way to growing beyond this. I'm already an anomaly, in that I've been able to maintain my marriage for many years (I blame SSA). Many people who experience PTSD have multiple marriages and sexual partners. They rarely remain in a relationship long enough to establish emotional intimacy which is vital for good emotional/mental health.
2. My collaborator already has a background helping me deal with it. It took us about three months to make everything work. To find someone else with the desire and willingness to learn about my needs and help me with them would be very difficult--and sort of stupid since it's not necessary.
So I did as I was instructed, and my friend and I have once again embarked on the dream direction journey. But I'm feeling unhappy about it all. I don't like having to rely on anyone, but if I don't do the exercises with him each night, I sincerely regret it when I fall asleep. It makes me feel inordinately dependent, and helpless.
I've been trying to alternate a couple of nights when we do the exercises together, with a couple where I do them alone. This has not been successful.
Once again, I'm getting really tired and discouraged. Honestly, I just want to sleep. I don't want to bother anyone each night, in order to get that rest. I've tried working with Darrin a bit, but he's too close to me, which probably doesn't make sense, but is true, nonetheless.
I'm going to go try this on my own, once again. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Ranting
I've been doing intense research for about seventeen hours now. I took a break to sleep, drive my daughter's carpool, and go running from about 2:00 a.m. till 8:30 this morning. There are so many things I'm learning that I don't want to know. So many things that have significance, that I actually have done and never understood why. Now I understand, but it brings more anger than relief.
Why must I continue to live with the things that were done to me? I have physical trauma, intense loneliness, feelings of worthlessness, self-numbing, self-harm habits, fear of men, fear of sexual relationships...when will it be enough?
Now, as I examine the emotional ramifications of the "mental illness" I'm studying, it seems that there's no end to the damage one person can inflict on another. That hardly seems fair. Please don't tell me that nothing in life is fair. Tonight, I just don't want to hear it.
I took the first steps in the assignments I received at discharge. I contacted those who bore the brunt of my relationship sabotage tactics. I apologized. We discussed ways to strengthen the parts of our relationships that my actions had weakened. I was humbled to have to rely on their ability to forgive and to love me in spite of me. I promised I'd try to never let that happen again. We made a plan to continue better than ever. I don't know what they felt. I felt miserable that I had lost control, been manipulative and paranoid. I felt vulnerable and completely at their mercy. I don't like that.
Stop the cycle. Watch for signs of stress. Use healthy coping techniques.
Exposure therapy, one of the treatments used for people who have PTSD scares the crap out of me.
Somehow, this just doesn't seem to be something that I'll find helpful.
Why must I continue to live with the things that were done to me? I have physical trauma, intense loneliness, feelings of worthlessness, self-numbing, self-harm habits, fear of men, fear of sexual relationships...when will it be enough?
Now, as I examine the emotional ramifications of the "mental illness" I'm studying, it seems that there's no end to the damage one person can inflict on another. That hardly seems fair. Please don't tell me that nothing in life is fair. Tonight, I just don't want to hear it.
I took the first steps in the assignments I received at discharge. I contacted those who bore the brunt of my relationship sabotage tactics. I apologized. We discussed ways to strengthen the parts of our relationships that my actions had weakened. I was humbled to have to rely on their ability to forgive and to love me in spite of me. I promised I'd try to never let that happen again. We made a plan to continue better than ever. I don't know what they felt. I felt miserable that I had lost control, been manipulative and paranoid. I felt vulnerable and completely at their mercy. I don't like that.
Stop the cycle. Watch for signs of stress. Use healthy coping techniques.
Exposure therapy, one of the treatments used for people who have PTSD scares the crap out of me.
Exposure therapy is a form of behavior therapy that deliberately exposes you to the very thing that you find upsetting or disturbing. It's especially useful for people with obsessive-compulsive disorder or post-traumatic stress disorder. Under controlled circumstances, exposure to the event or things that trigger your obsessive thoughts or traumatic reactions can help you learn to cope with them effectively.
Somehow, this just doesn't seem to be something that I'll find helpful.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
I have it. I don't want it. When I was first told it was mine, I just assumed it was a nice way to say I'd experienced something out of the ordinary--duh! I had no idea that it was an actual illness that anyone can contract. It has symptoms and side-effects and people who have it often become addicted to drugs and alcohol to escape it. I was assigned to watch more than one video about addictions and how to live with them. I told my psychiatrist I didn't feel that would be helpful, since I don't drink or abuse drugs. He said addiction, in this case, refers to any behavior that is harmful, and cited cutting, anorexia, and compulsive exercise. I watched the videos.
I left the hospital with a list of assigned research projects. The one to which I'm supposed to give priority is learning more about PTSD. It doesn't make me happy. Apparently, because of this, I'll be in therapy for the rest of my life. Not once monthly type therapy, but intensive therapy for as long as it takes for me to learn how to cope with the ups and downs in healthy ways. But once I figure out how to be a real person and live, I'll still have to have checks every two to three years to be certain I'm coping healthily and not having flashbacks or uncontrollable nightmares. I'll be checked on my phobias and isolation tendencies, on my family and friend relationships, and outlook on life, in general.
I'm not sure how I feel about all this. For sure, things could be worse. The psychiatrist said that, given the extent and duration of the abuse I've endured, I'm pretty healthy and he said that's because I'm very strong. It makes me want to cry a little bit. I'm not sure why--gratitude? frustration? sorrow? Regardless, life goes on and I intend to enjoy it.
Last night I spent an hour jumping on a trampoline with my kids and their cousins. It beats the heck out of a night in the psyche ward.
I left the hospital with a list of assigned research projects. The one to which I'm supposed to give priority is learning more about PTSD. It doesn't make me happy. Apparently, because of this, I'll be in therapy for the rest of my life. Not once monthly type therapy, but intensive therapy for as long as it takes for me to learn how to cope with the ups and downs in healthy ways. But once I figure out how to be a real person and live, I'll still have to have checks every two to three years to be certain I'm coping healthily and not having flashbacks or uncontrollable nightmares. I'll be checked on my phobias and isolation tendencies, on my family and friend relationships, and outlook on life, in general.
I'm not sure how I feel about all this. For sure, things could be worse. The psychiatrist said that, given the extent and duration of the abuse I've endured, I'm pretty healthy and he said that's because I'm very strong. It makes me want to cry a little bit. I'm not sure why--gratitude? frustration? sorrow? Regardless, life goes on and I intend to enjoy it.
Last night I spent an hour jumping on a trampoline with my kids and their cousins. It beats the heck out of a night in the psyche ward.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Feeling Stressed
pI'm sitting here eating a bowl of corn flakes because I promised I would have something today, and so far I've only had fresh air and sunlight. But I'm feeling some stress, which usually impedes my eating, and feeling a bit triumphant because half the bowl is gone and I don't feel like throwing up--a very good sign.
I've decided that my stress level is above normal today, and I'm giving myself permission to feel that stress for the following reasons:
1. Tomorrow is the last day of seminary. This would not be a problem if I wasn't in love with all my students and wishing I could see them every morning for the rest of my life. And while I understand this is unrequited love, I'm still going to miss them terribly. I think I'll move my running time from lunch hour to 6:15 a.m. to help fill the void this creates.
2. Tonight is seminary graduation. Since the grads are my class, I'm in charge of refreshments. I had a couple of people lined up to help me make food. Both called me last night to let me know they'd decided to leave for their 3-day weekends two days early, thus giving them a real holiday and leaving me to fend for myself. So I've been putting together the food by myself and will continue to do that until the meeting begins. I'm already tired. Plus, one of the people who left me in a bind was my beloved mother. I've decided I need a new one. Any takers?
3. Darrin's father is coming to Utah and has said he needs to see us. He asked if Darrin would take a week off work and we'd just stay the entire time he was there. He offered to pay our hotel bill if we'd do that. However, the kids are still in school and what Darrin's father forgot is that both Darrin and I work, so we won't be able to take that time off. We compromised with the plan to see him over the weekend (Saturday-Monday), and then he's welcome to make a stop at our house on the way home (which won't happen since he's on a flight headed back to the East Coast). So, when I'm all done with seminary graduation I will stay up the rest of the night washing all the clothes that my children have hidden in the twilight zones of their rooms, but decided they must have for a weekend in Utah, and making certain that enough socks and underwear get packed.
4. We will be spending the weekend with Darrin's sister and husband who always seem to be in crisis. Sister-in-law has decided that Brother-in-law, who has been in poor health for the last forty years, is dying. This could be a very long weekend.
5. After my recent unfortunate incarceration, my house is a bit more messy than I can endure. In between making food for the masses, doing laundry, and packing, I'm cleaning. Stupid, I know, but really very necessary in order for me to exist. DJ and Adam underwent training this morning on how to work a dishcloth. They seem to have forgotten the intricacies of such a modern piece of equipment, but after a little practice, I believe they have mastered it. Tabitha pitched a fit because I told her it was more important to me that she be able to walk into her bedroom without needing a machete to chop through the walls of clothes, toys, and trash that have built up, than it was for her to get to school on time. I even suggested she take a day off to see if she could discover the color of her carpet. She is apparently not feeling adventurous today since she left for school in a timely manner leaving the carpet hue a mystery.
While I understand these things are not vitally important, they are, however, causing me extreme stress. I need to go run. I don't think I'll be getting a chance to do so. However, I'm congratulating myself on my corn flakes ingestion. Most people wouldn't consider that progress--but for me, it's huge.
I've decided that my stress level is above normal today, and I'm giving myself permission to feel that stress for the following reasons:
1. Tomorrow is the last day of seminary. This would not be a problem if I wasn't in love with all my students and wishing I could see them every morning for the rest of my life. And while I understand this is unrequited love, I'm still going to miss them terribly. I think I'll move my running time from lunch hour to 6:15 a.m. to help fill the void this creates.
2. Tonight is seminary graduation. Since the grads are my class, I'm in charge of refreshments. I had a couple of people lined up to help me make food. Both called me last night to let me know they'd decided to leave for their 3-day weekends two days early, thus giving them a real holiday and leaving me to fend for myself. So I've been putting together the food by myself and will continue to do that until the meeting begins. I'm already tired. Plus, one of the people who left me in a bind was my beloved mother. I've decided I need a new one. Any takers?
3. Darrin's father is coming to Utah and has said he needs to see us. He asked if Darrin would take a week off work and we'd just stay the entire time he was there. He offered to pay our hotel bill if we'd do that. However, the kids are still in school and what Darrin's father forgot is that both Darrin and I work, so we won't be able to take that time off. We compromised with the plan to see him over the weekend (Saturday-Monday), and then he's welcome to make a stop at our house on the way home (which won't happen since he's on a flight headed back to the East Coast). So, when I'm all done with seminary graduation I will stay up the rest of the night washing all the clothes that my children have hidden in the twilight zones of their rooms, but decided they must have for a weekend in Utah, and making certain that enough socks and underwear get packed.
4. We will be spending the weekend with Darrin's sister and husband who always seem to be in crisis. Sister-in-law has decided that Brother-in-law, who has been in poor health for the last forty years, is dying. This could be a very long weekend.
5. After my recent unfortunate incarceration, my house is a bit more messy than I can endure. In between making food for the masses, doing laundry, and packing, I'm cleaning. Stupid, I know, but really very necessary in order for me to exist. DJ and Adam underwent training this morning on how to work a dishcloth. They seem to have forgotten the intricacies of such a modern piece of equipment, but after a little practice, I believe they have mastered it. Tabitha pitched a fit because I told her it was more important to me that she be able to walk into her bedroom without needing a machete to chop through the walls of clothes, toys, and trash that have built up, than it was for her to get to school on time. I even suggested she take a day off to see if she could discover the color of her carpet. She is apparently not feeling adventurous today since she left for school in a timely manner leaving the carpet hue a mystery.
While I understand these things are not vitally important, they are, however, causing me extreme stress. I need to go run. I don't think I'll be getting a chance to do so. However, I'm congratulating myself on my corn flakes ingestion. Most people wouldn't consider that progress--but for me, it's huge.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Smart Psychiatrist Man Says...
Smart Psychiatrist Man (SPM) found me "fascinating." Imagine that being said dryly and emotionlessly while being stared at through watery blue eyes peering from behind relatively clean thick glasses. Apparently, after all the testing, and in spite of my family history of mental illness, the only conclusive diagnosis he can pin on me is PTSD, which I already knew I had. There is no residual chronic depression (he says that being sad is different from clinical depression). Schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder, Alzheimer's, substance addiction, and clinical depression have high instance in my family--and often those illnesses can be exacerbated by PTSD. It seems, however, that I have none of those, and that my only illness is brought on by trauma/violence in my past. SPM said that was very interesting. He also said that we could treat the symptoms of PTSD with drugs if I would like that. Symptoms would include nightmares and social phobias. I asked if the drugs would be lifelong. SPM suggested that was a possibility. I asked for alternatives. He smiled and said the alternatives require much more work and can be frustrating. He said especially for the nightmares, the work was extremely intense. I asked if he was talking about guided dreams. He said yes, and then used a more official sounding term for what I've been doing since January. I explained to him the process I'd used to control my nightmares, and included the fact that I'd had a partner to help. SPM asked me why I was no longer using my methods, assuming they were no longer effective. I told him that my partner had taken the place of my cousin as my attacker. SPM's smile got larger. He said that whenever crisis occurs in the life of someone who has PTSD, it is normal for that person to feel that a close, safe person is now dangerous--hence the nightmares and other erratic behavior. SPM said he was surprised that Therapist had not taken on the role of attacker in my dreams, but then added that I was a little bit unusual. Thanks.
SPM told me that I could figure out the dreams once again, gave me some preliminary tools to use, and mapped out some guidelines he thought would be helpful. I left that particular session feeling huge relief. I've been consumed with guilt that I would dream such awful things about a loved one--especially since he would never be capable of hurting me in violent ways. I thought I was losing my mind, and I was really sad about the feelings of fear and distrust I was experiencing. The most helpful thing SPM told me was that everything I was going through was normal within the realms of PTSD. He also agrees that I don't need to be on meds for the rest of my life (or at all, if that's my choice), that my actions in the past eight months, especially with directional dreaming and increased social interaction with men (no, I didn't give details of my choice of men with whom to socialize) were proof that I could take control of those things and manage them in my life. He also was firm that I work with a therapist who had a background in dealing with PTSD, so that I'd learn to recognize symptoms and not ignore them to the point where I'd end up back in the hospital.
It's sort of hard to think about this, because I keep believing that if the trauma in my past had not occurred, I'd be really well-adjusted and normal. But then I remember that SPM said that the sum of our experiences contribute to who we are. He mentioned that parts of the psyche evaluations measure self-concept (personal beliefs about self). He said that even though I have lingering doubts about self-worth, I also have a deep belief that I'm of worth--evinced by my desire to make changes and work toward resolution of the emotional distress I'm going through. A person with less self-esteem would feel too defeated to begin, and there would be much time spent building that person to the point where actual work could begin. I don't have to do that preliminary stuff because, as SPM said, I "have a fairly high opinion of [myself], but not an inflated ego-image." That's a good thing. So even though I believe without the abuse experience I'd still be pretty amazing, the fact that it happened and I'm still me is amazing in and of itself.
I thought as I walked into the hospital that I had lost everything I've fought so hard to gain over the past eighteen months. I believe differently today. It was just one more point on the learning curve. My Bishop, Therapist Number Two (TNT), and a couple of nurses all assured me that I'm going to be okay. I believe them.
SPM told me that I could figure out the dreams once again, gave me some preliminary tools to use, and mapped out some guidelines he thought would be helpful. I left that particular session feeling huge relief. I've been consumed with guilt that I would dream such awful things about a loved one--especially since he would never be capable of hurting me in violent ways. I thought I was losing my mind, and I was really sad about the feelings of fear and distrust I was experiencing. The most helpful thing SPM told me was that everything I was going through was normal within the realms of PTSD. He also agrees that I don't need to be on meds for the rest of my life (or at all, if that's my choice), that my actions in the past eight months, especially with directional dreaming and increased social interaction with men (no, I didn't give details of my choice of men with whom to socialize) were proof that I could take control of those things and manage them in my life. He also was firm that I work with a therapist who had a background in dealing with PTSD, so that I'd learn to recognize symptoms and not ignore them to the point where I'd end up back in the hospital.
It's sort of hard to think about this, because I keep believing that if the trauma in my past had not occurred, I'd be really well-adjusted and normal. But then I remember that SPM said that the sum of our experiences contribute to who we are. He mentioned that parts of the psyche evaluations measure self-concept (personal beliefs about self). He said that even though I have lingering doubts about self-worth, I also have a deep belief that I'm of worth--evinced by my desire to make changes and work toward resolution of the emotional distress I'm going through. A person with less self-esteem would feel too defeated to begin, and there would be much time spent building that person to the point where actual work could begin. I don't have to do that preliminary stuff because, as SPM said, I "have a fairly high opinion of [myself], but not an inflated ego-image." That's a good thing. So even though I believe without the abuse experience I'd still be pretty amazing, the fact that it happened and I'm still me is amazing in and of itself.
I thought as I walked into the hospital that I had lost everything I've fought so hard to gain over the past eighteen months. I believe differently today. It was just one more point on the learning curve. My Bishop, Therapist Number Two (TNT), and a couple of nurses all assured me that I'm going to be okay. I believe them.
Monday, May 21, 2007
"And if you claim there is a hell, then we shall meet there."
I am not a good hospital patient.
Well, the first twenty-four hours I was, but as soon as I found the answers that made everything make sense again, life became beautiful...and sort of hilarious. It's impossible to survive three days and two nights in a lockdown mental facility without a sense of humor.
I was provided the following toiletries (none of my own were allowed):
1. toothpaste/brush
2. deoderant (not to be confused with anti-perspirant, which is another thing altogether)
3. a bar of soap
4. hand lotion
5. contact lens care kit
This ensured that I wash my hair with hand soap. Not knowing what else to do, and assuming that it would imitate conditioner (and plus, it smelled like coconut--the only scented thing in the whole place), I used the hand lotion on my hair, as well, and then gave thanks to the Lord that there are no mirrors in the entire ward.
I was issued a pair of scrubs so immense that I could easily have hosted a dinner party inside of them. Imagine Samantha wandering about the psyche ward in a shirt falling off her shoulders, but being too preoccupied with making certain the pants stayed up to care too much about the shoulder thing. Finally, on day two, a male nurse suggested he might be able to find me something a little more attractive--but a men's small is still rather large--only a small dinner party could be hosted inside the new scrubs. Sigh...
Characters of interest in the Behavoioral Health Unit:
1. A person I am supposed to visit teach--but she's that sister who makes the appointment and then is never home...we all have them...anyway, I introduced myself and suggested that I was so desperate to see her that I'd admitted myself to the psyche ward when I knew she'd be coming. Then I asked if she'd allow me to share the May Visiting Teaching message with her. Then I cracked up. I'm so hilarious.
2. Psychiatrist Man who knows everything, doesn't think I'm crazy (just a little unwell...yeah, he actually sang a bit of that for me), and has no expression whatsoever. He was pretty wonderful, and just what I needed to get back on track.
3. Therapist Number One (TNO) who had no idea what to do with me because Psychiatrist Man told her I was pretty advanced in my therapy, so he was uncertain if a project would be of help to me. As projects are how TNO deals with all her patients, she was somewhat put out and found one for me anyway (which I chose not to do). She told me she expected me to take the project seriously and report to the therapist who would be taking her place the next day. I giggled and said, "You're not serious!" She assured me that she was. I ignored her.
4. Psychiatrist Woman (Asian with very pretty legs...) who analyzed and reported on my psyche tests. She was confused because the tests showed conflicting results. She asked if I knew why. I told her I thought it might be because one can only answer three true/false questions before becoming bored. Answering 995 was cruel, unusual punishment and I probably wasn't paying particularly close attention toward the end. She said, "Well, then we'll have to do some of this orally." Fine by me--she was lovely company. Darrin agrees with me.
5. Therapist Number Two (TNT) who made certain I attended group therapy from 8:45 a.m. till 3:30 p.m. (half-hour lunch break) today. Group Therapy became Samantha therapy as all other participants started dropping out after lunch. By 1:30, I was on my own and in a one-on-one session with a very earnest, serious TNT. I wanted to drop out, as well, but more than that, I wanted to go home. I finished the therapy sessions.
6. Mr. Harris, the older man with Alzheimer's. This was genuinely a huge highlight for me. Mr. Harris decided that I was the newest doctor in the ward. He was adept at swiping patient charts and bringing them to me. No one could understand the constant stream of words he muttered, but occasionally something intelligible slipped out. After I had refused the sixth patient chart, he said clearly, "Well, you can only do the best you can do. That's all anyone can ask..." then shuffled away, disappointed that I didn't want his offerings. During the second evening, a psych tech lost a small piece of paper and exclaimed about it in Mr. Harris' hearing. Mr. Harris immediately began searching his pockets for the paper, then moved behind the desk and began rifling through open file folders and other confidential materials. Four nurses tried to distract him away from his task, but he intended to find that paper. A male nurse held up a nearby magazine and called, "Mr. Harris, come look at this magazine with me. Look--it's Patrick Dempsey! The hottest male star in America!!" Then he turned to the rest of us and sheepishly said, "Well, that's what it says..."
Amazingly, Mr. Harris moved to admire the sexy Patrick, and the nurses cleaned up his mess while giggling at the two men reading the women's magazine. Male nurse said, "Hey, whatever works...and Patrick Dempsey is hot anyway..." Finally, to make my stay complete, Mr. Harris decided to move into my room with me. Six times the nurses moved him back to his own room, but he was determined. Finally they dragged me out of my beloved group therapy and asked me to verbally reclaim my territory, feeling that if I told Mr. Harris to leave my room, he would. I started giggling and said, "No way!! I'm leaving this afternoon. As far as I'm concerned, if he wants my room, he can have it." The nurses started talking about legalities and liabilities. I grinned and went back to therapy. When I returned, my room was intact, and Mr. Harris was sitting in the hallway, peacefully coloring in a coloring book.
Finally, about an hour before discharge I was allowed to wear my own clothes (wow--they smell so nice!) Visiting Teachee gave me a hug good-by, TNT breathed an audible sigh of relief, Mr. Harris tried to kiss me (thank you, sexy blonde nurse, for saving me from that privilege), and Patrick Dempsey Admirer Nurse escorted me to the ground floor and out the door. The first thing I did when I got home was shower...for a long, long time.
Well, the first twenty-four hours I was, but as soon as I found the answers that made everything make sense again, life became beautiful...and sort of hilarious. It's impossible to survive three days and two nights in a lockdown mental facility without a sense of humor.
I was provided the following toiletries (none of my own were allowed):
1. toothpaste/brush
2. deoderant (not to be confused with anti-perspirant, which is another thing altogether)
3. a bar of soap
4. hand lotion
5. contact lens care kit
This ensured that I wash my hair with hand soap. Not knowing what else to do, and assuming that it would imitate conditioner (and plus, it smelled like coconut--the only scented thing in the whole place), I used the hand lotion on my hair, as well, and then gave thanks to the Lord that there are no mirrors in the entire ward.
I was issued a pair of scrubs so immense that I could easily have hosted a dinner party inside of them. Imagine Samantha wandering about the psyche ward in a shirt falling off her shoulders, but being too preoccupied with making certain the pants stayed up to care too much about the shoulder thing. Finally, on day two, a male nurse suggested he might be able to find me something a little more attractive--but a men's small is still rather large--only a small dinner party could be hosted inside the new scrubs. Sigh...
Characters of interest in the Behavoioral Health Unit:
1. A person I am supposed to visit teach--but she's that sister who makes the appointment and then is never home...we all have them...anyway, I introduced myself and suggested that I was so desperate to see her that I'd admitted myself to the psyche ward when I knew she'd be coming. Then I asked if she'd allow me to share the May Visiting Teaching message with her. Then I cracked up. I'm so hilarious.
2. Psychiatrist Man who knows everything, doesn't think I'm crazy (just a little unwell...yeah, he actually sang a bit of that for me), and has no expression whatsoever. He was pretty wonderful, and just what I needed to get back on track.
3. Therapist Number One (TNO) who had no idea what to do with me because Psychiatrist Man told her I was pretty advanced in my therapy, so he was uncertain if a project would be of help to me. As projects are how TNO deals with all her patients, she was somewhat put out and found one for me anyway (which I chose not to do). She told me she expected me to take the project seriously and report to the therapist who would be taking her place the next day. I giggled and said, "You're not serious!" She assured me that she was. I ignored her.
4. Psychiatrist Woman (Asian with very pretty legs...) who analyzed and reported on my psyche tests. She was confused because the tests showed conflicting results. She asked if I knew why. I told her I thought it might be because one can only answer three true/false questions before becoming bored. Answering 995 was cruel, unusual punishment and I probably wasn't paying particularly close attention toward the end. She said, "Well, then we'll have to do some of this orally." Fine by me--she was lovely company. Darrin agrees with me.
5. Therapist Number Two (TNT) who made certain I attended group therapy from 8:45 a.m. till 3:30 p.m. (half-hour lunch break) today. Group Therapy became Samantha therapy as all other participants started dropping out after lunch. By 1:30, I was on my own and in a one-on-one session with a very earnest, serious TNT. I wanted to drop out, as well, but more than that, I wanted to go home. I finished the therapy sessions.
6. Mr. Harris, the older man with Alzheimer's. This was genuinely a huge highlight for me. Mr. Harris decided that I was the newest doctor in the ward. He was adept at swiping patient charts and bringing them to me. No one could understand the constant stream of words he muttered, but occasionally something intelligible slipped out. After I had refused the sixth patient chart, he said clearly, "Well, you can only do the best you can do. That's all anyone can ask..." then shuffled away, disappointed that I didn't want his offerings. During the second evening, a psych tech lost a small piece of paper and exclaimed about it in Mr. Harris' hearing. Mr. Harris immediately began searching his pockets for the paper, then moved behind the desk and began rifling through open file folders and other confidential materials. Four nurses tried to distract him away from his task, but he intended to find that paper. A male nurse held up a nearby magazine and called, "Mr. Harris, come look at this magazine with me. Look--it's Patrick Dempsey! The hottest male star in America!!" Then he turned to the rest of us and sheepishly said, "Well, that's what it says..."
Amazingly, Mr. Harris moved to admire the sexy Patrick, and the nurses cleaned up his mess while giggling at the two men reading the women's magazine. Male nurse said, "Hey, whatever works...and Patrick Dempsey is hot anyway..." Finally, to make my stay complete, Mr. Harris decided to move into my room with me. Six times the nurses moved him back to his own room, but he was determined. Finally they dragged me out of my beloved group therapy and asked me to verbally reclaim my territory, feeling that if I told Mr. Harris to leave my room, he would. I started giggling and said, "No way!! I'm leaving this afternoon. As far as I'm concerned, if he wants my room, he can have it." The nurses started talking about legalities and liabilities. I grinned and went back to therapy. When I returned, my room was intact, and Mr. Harris was sitting in the hallway, peacefully coloring in a coloring book.
Finally, about an hour before discharge I was allowed to wear my own clothes (wow--they smell so nice!) Visiting Teachee gave me a hug good-by, TNT breathed an audible sigh of relief, Mr. Harris tried to kiss me (thank you, sexy blonde nurse, for saving me from that privilege), and Patrick Dempsey Admirer Nurse escorted me to the ground floor and out the door. The first thing I did when I got home was shower...for a long, long time.
Who Knew?
Apparently, if one has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, a therapist's leaving (for whatever reason) is a major event--especially if the therapist/client relationship has been highly successful. One might even say that such an event would cause the client to experience elevated levels of stress such that she might choose to be in denial for a couple of weeks, and then extreme distress might set in. The distress could possibly move to erratic behavior, alienation of friends and loved ones, thoughts of self-harm, recurrence of anorexic tendencies, depression and thoughts of death. This could actually escalate to the point that the client would admit herself at the Behavioral Health ward of the hospital.
Anyway, that's what the psychologist at the psyche ward in the hospital told me during my stay there. I'm guessing he's right.
Anyway, that's what the psychologist at the psyche ward in the hospital told me during my stay there. I'm guessing he's right.
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