Positives within the chaos

This year, one of my constant refrains has been about not being connected – to myself, and others. This lack of connection has been most glaringly evident in the minimal activity on this blog; withdrawing from my online network of friends; and my disordered eating. I consider all of these things symptoms, because they are outward signs of the internal turmoil that I’ve been experiencing. The problem is that the symptoms – especially the disordered eating, has become so all-consuming and dysfunctional, that it is easy to use it as a distraction…

I use the word “distraction” cautiously here, because in many ways it has distracted me from the real issues that I am facing… but, in other ways, the dysfunctions tell their own story about my past and present.

Through my disordered eating, I’ve learned how I felt abandoned in the past – by others and myself; massive amounts of confusion about my life and it’s meaning; isolation; and feeling so dirty that I doubt that I will ever be clean, good, or “healed”.

I’ve also learned about many of my fears… fears of being seen; being invisible; doing damage through the disordered eating; and not doing enough damage through the disordered eating… There are always so many contradictions… I used to get lost within these contradictions, and become so overwhelmed by them, that I would turn away from trying to understand what was happening… but now, I’m beginning to see the meanings inherent within them…

Those contradictions hold so many truths about my past. They revolve around issues that are hallmarks of a dysfunctional childhood (abandonment, perfectionism, disconnection, etc); yet, they are being enacted out because I am so very fearful of what I’ll see when I really look at my past, and it’s impact on me in the present…

This fear has been ramping up over the past year, and coincides with an increased awareness of the emotional impact that my past has had on me. It seems as if the closer I come to connecting with the emotions, the more dysfunctional my present day behaviours become. This became obvious when I was showing Allison some of my art… her comment was that the extreme pain that was evident in the artwork, was not being seen in therapy, or any other area of my life… except my dysfunctional behaviours.

It feels as if there’s a cycle happening – I’m terrified of giving a voice to those emotions… which leads to the required emotional outlet being shown in dysfunctional behaviours… which causes confusion, desperation and resentment… which means that I again turn away from the emotions… and so the cycle begins again.

The thing is, I know that healing happens within an emotional context… but, I know that on an intellectual level. I find it difficult to transform that knowledge into practice. Despite this, there have been connections made… I’ve started to take photos again, renewed my efforts to draw, and sometimes have been able to understand the impact of my dysfunctional behaviour through the eyes of people who care about me. This last one is possibly the hardest to cope with, but also the most vital… it’s easy to get lost within dysfunction, and lose touch with the reality of the impact those behaviours have on myself, and those around me. But then, I see the look on a friends face when I tell them the results of my blood tests… My cynical co-worker asks what she can do to help me with my eating… These are reminders that I’m not as invisible as I’d like to think I am, and that my actions have consequences.

It may not seem it, but this realisation is possibly the biggest healing step that I’ve made in a long time. I grew up with the idea that if I was only invisible, then things would be perfect… I would be safe from harm, and no one would miss me if I was gone. That idea has been challenged on several fronts… one of the most noticeable can be summed up in a quote from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. ~

Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.

I’m now trying to navigate a world where many of my core beliefs are being challenged… I’m not invisible, and my actions do have the potential to affect others… There is a huge discomfort in that knowledge… but, it’s also healing. I’m no longer that awkward kid that the teachers turned away from when things were obviously wrong… Instead, I am able to make choices that were denied me when I was that awkward kid… Positive choices…

Positive choices, like going to the zoo and taking a photo of a Spider Monkey whose body language mirrored my own…

In all of the chaos that has eventuated this year, it’s been easy to forget the things that have helped… Connections matter, no matter how fleeting they are… so a moment of connection to the external world through my camera is huge… it gives me a voice, an outlet, and lessens the sense of isolation that I seem to foster at times. It’s been a difficult year on so many levels, but also a good one on so many levels… yet another contradiction that I’m learning to live with, and understand a little more.

As a note, this post is for the December edition of the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse… There is still time to submit a post of your own, just fill in this form.

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Now playing: Dave Dobbyn – Welcome Home

Fathers Day awareness

Sunday was Fathers Day in New Zealand.  As the day was approaching, a friend asked me how I reacted to the day – whether it needed to be something on my radar of potentially rough, or triggering days.  My response was a rather confident and nonchalant…  “Oh, it’s no big deal.  I usually hide out and withdraw, but am fine”.  I wasn’t minimising anything with my response; I was answering from a place of honesty, based on what I remembered from previous years.

This year however, was different…  Very different…  I was swept away by overwhelming emotions, lost great chunks of time, and felt the need for demeaning forms of self injury.  On some level, I remained functional… I tweeted, cleaned the house, did some gardening, and finished some chores.  But, I also had flashbacks that left me curled up in terror, I easily became disorientated as to time and place, and experienced an emotional roller-coaster that left me shaking like a leaf.

I say that this year was different, but I wonder if it really was.  Did I react differently to it; or, was I just more aware of my reactions to the day?  This is the question that I’ve been asking myself… I wonder about it because if I’m more aware, then that indicates a level of healing that is positive in the long-term… But, if this year was bad purely because I approached it in a different way, then that could indicate that I’m back-sliding by “looking for triggers”.  Either option is possible, but the latter seems more likely.  I feel less connected to everything and everyone than I did at the start of last year, so find it difficult to believe that the awareness is about positive healing…

As soon as I type that, a voice of dissent that speaks up… Allison has seen improvements in my functioning, and being aware of the chaos has to be a good indicator, doesn’t it?  And so it goes on… this continual to and fro.

Then, I see the internal arguments for what they are… another form of distraction.  If I get caught up in an internal argument over my progress, or lack thereof; then I can avoid reflecting on the weekend…  Instead of paying attention to the pain and associated feelings, I can start intellectualising.  Climb back into my comfort zone of internal debates about what constitutes healing, defines progress, etc…  That’s one step away from beating myself up for not being “healed” yet (whatever that means).

Ahhh Distraction Land, I know you well…

I know that we all need to distract sometimes; but, I need to learn to face my experiences as well.  No matter the reason why I had such a rough weekend, it was rough.  I need to learn how to cope with that… to learn how I can manage those times better… to heal…

In this instance, it was my emotional reaction to Fathers Day.  It would be really easy to now put that event in a box within my mind, label is as a triggering day, and store it away.  Yes, that plan of action would help me prepare for next year, but what can I learn from it to help my everyday life?  I think that’s where my healing will come from… I’m already really good at compartmentalising things, and what I really need to learn, is how to ease those compartments so that they blend into my everyday existence.  I’m always going to experience triggers – that’s just life.  I need to learn how to cope with those triggers better every single day, not just on triggering days…

An indication that I still have a long way to go in my healing, is that I deliberately chose to go to the lake on Fathers Day to take photos… On one level, this was a good decision, as I often feel a sense of calm by the water; but, on other levels, it was such a bad choice…  It was Fathers Day, after all… that means families playing together, and in particular fathers being the centre of attention within those families.  At times these images can be positive, and act as a reminder that not all fathers hurt their children… at other times, they can cut like a knife through my wounds.

Was it wise to go to the lake?  Probably not.  Another friend once told me about looking for the windows of opportunity in a situation… the windows where there is the possibility for you to choose a different option, or way forward.  I had one of those windows when I was deciding where to go to take photos… I could have chosen somewhere less triggering, but I didn’t.  This was reflected in the photos I took… Some reflected my pain…

While others reflected my ability to be in the moment…

I’m not so good at being in the present moment…

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Now playing: Eddie Vedder – Don’t be shy

Path to self-destruction

Every now and again, I stand back, and wonder what in the world I’m doing.  This is one of those times.

I’ve just made it through the first of the two stressful weekends that I have previously mentioned.  I don’t remember much about the past weekend… just the noise (a group of librarians is very noisy), the suffocating crowds, the alcohol, and the panic… the ever-present panic.

People laughed during my presentation, but apparently it was because I was funny… go figure!  I was even congratulated afterwards by my bullying ex-manager… although, I always wonder what her motives are for anything that she does, doubly so when it seems positive towards someone else.  Yes, paint me suspicious.  She did seem genuine though… it was a little unsettling, to say the least.

I tried so hard to stay safe… I went back to my room early, I went for a walk to take photos… I avoided obvious triggers.  But, by Saturday night, things were starting to crumble.  The drive to get hurt was incredible.  The pressure of presenting to a large group of influential people; trying to act sane; and having to eat dinner in front of others, was too much…  The only thing that kept me safe, was an inability to access methods of self-injury.

People have tried to tell me that getting through the weekend uninjured was an accomplishment.  So, why does it feel like a failure?  A part of me is very confused, and feels rejected by the lack of pain… in some warped way, it’s almost as if I wasn’t “good” enough to be hurt.  Allison tried to explain the theory behind the feelings to me, but that brought little comfort.  Instead, it has upped the stakes for the coming weekend…

This weekend, I’m returning to my home-town for my birthday.  There are positive plans, such as wanting to see the ocean, and taking photos of some of the parks around the city; but there are also plans to go to the rugby club, and school where I was abused.  I need to go alone to these places.  I need to see what they look like… are they as I remember them?  Have they changed?  Will being there trigger any memories?  Will I see any of the men who abused me?

I read that paragraph, and realise the insanity of it.  What do I hope to accomplish?  Nothing positive can come from it.  If they look the same, what will it prove?  I know that memory is influenced by a variety of factors, so it wouldn’t ease my denial, or magically resolve my questions… so, what is the point?

All I can think of, is that it is a futile bid for acceptance over the past.  But, it’s unlikely that the men who abused me will be willing to sit down and reminisce.  It’s not really a fit topic of discussion to have over drinks on a Saturday afternoon, is it?

Strangely, the part of me who wants to go back to the club, doesn’t want to see the abusers.  I want; no, need to see the building, that’s all.  I want to see the men’s toilets, the changing rooms, the downstairs bar, and the office.  The place must be empty.  If there were people there, it would make it too real.  It would give faces to the shadows, and that isn’t wanted.

There’s a clinical detachment in knowing their names, without seeing their faces.  A form of safety… denial.  I’m a librarian, I could find their pictures if I wanted… but, I destroyed all of my childhood pictures, so why would I want to see their faces?  Seeing their faces would be like having proof that I remembered them for something… that they mattered…

I know that so much of my thinking is a study in contrasts, as well as a dash of very young logic. It’s becoming a constant struggle to stay grounded in the present…  The past and present seem to be merging more often.  I’m losing more time.  The intellectual part of me is struggling with the infirmity of it all… there’s a need to get back on solid ground now, and ignore all of these diversions… The thing that is so confusing, is that I don’t know what is the diversion anymore… is it work, the dissociation, or the past?

I know I’ll be fine this weekend.  I know it will be a jolt to be back in my hometown, but I do have many good memories there…  It may feel like a path to destruction, but that’s my anxiety talking… I need to listen to it, understand, and acknowledge it; but also reality check it all.

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Now playing: Brooke Fraser – Shadowfeet
via FoxyTunes

Anxiety vrs reality

One of the ways that anxiety manifests for me, is the fear created when I imagine the worst case scenario that could happen when facing a situation.  It feels all-encompassing.  There is no relief from its control.  This morning, all of my distraction techniques, grounding methods, and even my prescribed “emergency” medications haven’t helped ease its grip over me.

It feels like I’m in some invisible tug-of-war between reality, and anxiety related scenarios…  Anxiety is winning!

Here are some of the issues causing my anxiety…

Scenario 1:  My abusive ex-husband will be in town this weekend for a special event.

Reality tells me that he will obey the Protection Order that I have against him, and will not approach the house.

Anxiety shows me (in great detail), all of potential scenarios where he will come to the house… He might want to show the people he’s with, where he lived with the “fruit-loop”… He might want to see if I still live here…  He might be curious as to what the house now looks like…

Within my mind, the anxiety scenario becomes bigger, and badder.  I see him driving up and sitting outside in the car.  I see him standing at the door.  I hear the taunts that I know he can throw at me.  I see him in the house.  I see him hurting me.

My imagination weaves abuses from the past into the potential scenario, making them seem all to real.  It becomes more and more difficult to reality check what my imagination is creating; and anxiety hits in wave, after wave.

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Scenario 2:  Next month I have to present at a weekend conference in another town.  There will be several people going from work – including the co-worker who has sexually harassed me on a couple of occasions.  Everyone from work will be staying in the same hotel.

Reality tells me that my presentation will be fine – it’s a small conference, and the topic of my presentation is interesting.  The co-worker will not do anything to harass me at the conference.

Anxiety tells me that the presentation will be a total disaster.  The person following me in the program, is my former bullying boss, and she will take great delight in telling everyone how bad my talk was, before starting into her own presentation.  I will lose all of the respect that my former team leader has for me, and the audience will try, but fail, to smother their derisive laughter during my presentation.

It also tells me, that I’ll be harassed by my co-worker in a more direct way.  It will evolve from verbal harassment, to physical.  I won’t be able to stop it, and I’ll end up dissociating in a strange town with no access to my usual support network.  I’ll end up self-injuring, badly.

Again, my imagination weaves images that I’ve seen in the media, or my own experiences, into the scenario.  It becomes bigger, and badder than any known reality.

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Scenario 3:  I’m going back to my home-town for my birthday. 

Reality tells me that it’s only for a couple of days, and everything will be fine.  It might be a shock to return there, and possibly disorienting; but, it will be fine as long as I remember the skills I’ve picked up in distraction and grounding.  It’s all about staying in the present.

Anxiety tells me that I’ll be swamped with memories.  My mother will invade my space by going through my possessions – I have proof that she has done so during her latest visit.  I’ll be forced to interact with my sister, and my sister-in-law… both people I would rather avoid.  I’ll be overwhelmed, and end up self-injuring.

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I know that my fears are driving these anxiety scenarios… fear of failure, being hurt, humiliation, and being seen.  At times, I can step back from those fears, and reality check them; but, at the moment, they are all I see.  I was hoping that by writing this out, they might ease their grip over me… that I could intellectualise the scenarios, and put the fears into the boxes on the shelves in my mind.  If there was only one of the scenarios happening, I would try to feel the emotions, and ease them that way.  But, with all three, it feels too big…

The first scenario was talked about with Allison this week; but it was more a process of giving voice to the fears, rather than establishing any action plans.  I’m going into the weekend anxiety filled, and unable to remain grounded.  I’m experiencing derealisation, and panic attacks.  Yet, I’m sitting here at work, as if I’m fine…

I’ll be fine… I always am.

Murmuration

I came across the word “murmuration” today, and stumbled across this video.  I don’t know if it’s the music, the dance of the starlings, or both… but I found it calming, so thought I’d share it.

Thanks to Frank and the @postsecret team for the tweet that piqued my interest.

Late edit: If you hadn’t already tried it, it’s great to watch in full-screen 🙂

Asking for help

I’m told that asking for help is one of the strongest things that a person can do.  There is a strength in the vulnerability that comes from admitting that you can’t do something by yourself.  It’s an indication that you’re not perfect… not the self-sufficient island of invincibility that you’d like to think you are.

It stinks.

It hurts.

It feels impossible.

Over the last few months, I’ve had the urge to cut off my hands during therapy.  I know that this is about wanting to reach out for help, and not being able to do so.  It’s about punishing those parts of myself who want to reach out.  It’s about not allowing weakness.

I learned early on in life that weakness was not acceptable, and made life difficult.  Any sign of weakness could be used against me.  If I was scared of something, then I could be taunted with it.  If something hurt, then it could be prodded.  I was confused by being hurt by people that, five minutes earlier, had been laughing and teasing me.  All of this meant that I saw my only option as being to draw inward, and showing no outward sign of vulnerability.  I was often called stuck-up while I was growing up, mainly because I did everything possible to keep myself separate from those around me.  I didn’t think that I was better than anyone else, I just didn’t trust anyone (including myself); so my only protection was to withdraw and project a veneer of invincibility.

That veneer of invincibility is now being threatened.  There’s a needy part of me wanting to reach out to others for help.  But that is being resisted.  I’m showing more signs of dysfunctional coping.  I’ve withdrawn any meaningful communication with everyone.  I’m having to take medication every morning, just to face the prospect of work.  I’ve withdrawn as much contact with people as is possible.  All I’m doing, is trying to fly under the radar.

This is the contradiction that I’m living with – needing to fly under the radar, which by definition, means being self-sufficient and invisible; and parts of me needing help.

One is seen by society as being strong; the other weak.

One has kept me alive for the last 30 odd years; the other is what led to so much pain in the past, that I don’t know if I can go there again.

Even if I wanted to ask for help, I don’t think that I know how to do so.  The stumbling efforts that I’ve made towards asking for help, have been a disaster.  I’ve sent emails which have been misread and caused more pain.  I’ve called crisis lines, and not been able to communicate how badly I’m coping, or ended up in the Police holding cells.  I’ve gone online to talk to friends, but ended up being unsafe instead.  So I obviously don’t know how to ask for, or accept, help.  I don’t know what positive help looks like, and I’ve lost all sense of safety.

But, I’m still turning up to work everyday.  I’m still playing the game.

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Now playing: Adele – Rolling In The Deep
via FoxyTunes

Expressive Arts Carnival: Coping

The theme for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is:

Through drawing, painting, photography or any other visual means, create an image about mechanisms you have used to cope when you thought you could not.

I admit it, I have a love/hate relationship with coping mechanisms.  I’m often told by mental health professionals that I know plenty of coping mechanisms…  I’m often told by the crisis lines to “go do your coping techniques”…  Both of these statements have a tendency to annoy me.  While they’re both true, I also see them as a cop out.  So I know plenty of coping mechanisms, does that mean I can’t learn any more?  Yes, doing various coping techniques help me when I’m feeling overwhelmed; but by the time I’ve called the crisis lines, I’ve usually been doing them for at least 12 hours straight and need some support beyond what the coping mechanisms can provide.  So while I see the need for coping mechanisms, I sometimes approach them with a sense of dread.

Even after all of these years, I still label the activities “coping mechanisms”, which can sometimes cause an odd tension.  I know that I need to do them in order to help keep me present and safe; but because of the connotations surrounding their use, it feels as if they are assigned a label, and trotted out on special occasions.  This is even for the techniques I have managed to build into my life as part of my routine and attempts to enrich my life.  One week I may go out and take photos because I feel like it; but the next week, taking photos becomes a coping technique which must be carried out in order to keep the crazy at bay.  Same activity, but totally different meanings.

It can be challenging to use coping techniques.  They can act as a distraction from the emotions which threaten to overwhelm, but they also encourage you to sit with the emotions without “checking out” through the use of the old, less healthy means of coping (self-injury, etc).  It can also be challenging finding ones which work… something that works one day, might not work another.  Even realising that you are worthy of using a healthy coping mechanism, instead of self-injuring, can be difficult.  There are times when no matter what I try, I’m still swept along with the old ways of coping… but I’ve found that the more I get angry at myself for that, the more anxiety there is the next time I begin to get overwhelmed.  That’s not to say that I accept that the self-injury has happened, I don’t; instead I try to learn from it.  The more I can learn about the triggers and the motivations, the more likely I am to recognise the warning signs, and try different coping mechanisms before it’s too late.

My entry for this months carnival is an indication of my attempts to learn about new ways of coping.  Last year, I underwent a psychiatric assessment to determine my level of impairment.  I don’t react well to any assessment, but this one was particularly difficult.  I wrote a history of my abuse… something that I’d never done before, and it caused a great deal of turmoil and confusion.

I knew beforehand that I might react badly to the assessment, so I made plans to try and help myself cope with it all.  I arranged for some time off work, asked my mother to stay, and organised a trip by the sea as a reward for getting through the assessment.  On one level, these arrangements made sense… I was unlikely to be able to function at work, so arrange some time off work, etc.  But, on another level, they were also attempts at self care and utilising positive coping mechanisms.  Trying to understand my limits, and working within them.

Not everything went as planned, and there was some serious bumps along the way.  Probably the most challenging time was when I went away for the trip.  What should have been a restful time at the beach, turned into a messy contradiction in terms of coping and safety.  At times, I could go for a walk along the beach and feel the sense of peace; but at times, I was swept away by the emotions which were stirred by the assessment.  After one particularly bad night, I forced myself to pick up my camera and go for a walk.  I walked for hours… something that is rare for me, as I usually need a purpose when going out.  During that walk, I took the photo below.  It’s not my best photo, but it represents a time when I was struggling so desperately to stay present and safe.  If I’d been more present, I would have chosen a different angle, and camera settings… but as it is, the photo shows my attempts to connect to the environment around me. It’s not perfect, but it stills works… especially if you squint a bit, and tilt your head to the right.

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Now playing: Natalie Merchant – Wonder
via FoxyTunes

Expressive Arts Carnival: Walls

The activity for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is to:

Draw a wall using any medium, and show what is on one or both sides. Please also write a couple of sentences saying what the process was like for you.

When I was seeing Liz (about a year ago), I created a Polyvore set which I titled Barriers, and showed what my defense mechanisms and walls were…

This shows my walls as being the razor wire fence, behind which hurt and angry ones can be seen.  What’s interesting, is that an abusive event can be seen fairly clearly, almost as if the memory is the defense against looking closer at the hurt ones and their emotions.  A hidden, and shameful part of the wall is sex; while the more obvious things that make up the wall are my education, work, food, perfectionism, alcohol, cutting and the idea/memories of the perfect family.  The protector with the knives, is one of our more heavy handed protectors, and indicates how out of control we were at the time…

Today, I drew another wall with oil pastels.  I love oil pastels because of their tactile nature.  But I also hate them, because they’re not “precise” enough for me… they have this annoying habit of not having straight lines and bleeding into each other.  Ok, so may be I don’t know how to manipulate them correctly to get the blending done precisely… or, may be that’s the point of them, to be imperfect.

This is what I drew…

Wall

The green and purple are the colours in front of the wall.  These are the colours that protect the rest of the system, and the outside world, from the wall and what is behind it.  The purple acts as a warning, and the green as a grounding colour.  Then there is the black wall.  This wall must be strong and impervious.  The bright red, or anger, is the first thing bashing against the wall, then the shame of blue; before the black emptiness of the unknown.  Each of the colours is separated by mini black walls, to try and keep layers upon layers of protection occurring.

I’m struck by the contrasts between the images.  The first is controlled, yet descriptive; while the second is controlled and abstract.  I often describe my internal world behind the wall as either a gaping chasm of nothingness, or a swirling mess of emotions… neither quite fit the image that I’ve drawn.  I’m not particularly grounded today, so that could be the reason for the disparity.

To add to the oddity, I deliberately chose Missy Higgins’  version of Stuff and Nonsense to go with this entry – a song about knowing/loving in the present, but not being able to guarantee anything in the future.

I sometimes wonder if I’m looking for meaning when there is none, or whether I’m missing the point.  One day, I may find out, but not today.

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Stuff and Nonsense
via FoxyTunes

The "S" word…

Note: This entry may trigger due to issues around suicide being discussed.

I’ve been fairly open about my levels of suicidal ideation on this blog over time. But the last week or so, I’ve been dancing around the subject. The reason why… on the 2nd and 3rd of August I tried to commit suicide.

I’m still trying to make sense of the attempts, and the triggers which precipitated them.

The main things I remember about Monday, are that I didn’t work my usual late shift, and that I was very tired… very, very tired. So tired, that it made perfect sense to come home, empty a pill bottle into my hand and swallow them down with a caffeine drink.

I vividly remember looking at the pile of pills in my hand, and thinking… “This will help me sleep”.

This terminology is significant… “This will help me sleep”. Usually, my suicidal ideation and intent is termed “running away”, so I wonder if the change in phrasing was an indication that different ones were driving the attempt, or whether I was just really tired?

In the past, whenever there has been even a suicidal gesture, a protector has come forward and immediately called for help. But not this time. This time, I climbed into bed and waited for sleep. That was at about 6pm. The next thing I remember, is waking in a panic at 2.45. I wasn’t panicking about the pills that were now well absorbed into my system…  Oh no, I was panicking because I wasn’t sure if it was morning or night, and I was worried about missing work!

The details are fuzzy, but somehow we ended up in ER. ER’s always seem so bright… so well lit… super bright… I know this is a medical necessity, but it’s also about our fears. We hate hospitals. We feel ourselves get smaller, younger and more tongue-tied in hospitals… It’s hard to hear what people are asking of us, and we become more robotic.

As an indication that there was still come cognitive thinking happening, we’d remembered to bring our iPhone with us. Hours of playing Boost 3D, Euchre, Hell’s Kitchen… Anything to try to keep calm! Then the unspeakable happened, the iPhone battery ran out… This tipped the scales back to crazy.

• We removed the lure ourselves and went to the nurses station, asking to leave. They took us through to the observation lounge instead. Yay… power points for recharging the iPhone 🙂
• WPT came and visited us in the ER, and we brushed him off… told him we were fine and not to worry about us…
• When we were assessed by the psychiatric team… I say “assessed”, but to the system, it felt like a grilling.  They asked about family relationships, abuse history etc.
• By the end of the assessment, angry protectors were up front and they ripped up the discharge papers as we walked away from the nurses station.

Yes, we were released with no follow-up or safety options mentioned.

When we got home, there was still the need to sleep. I think one of us called the crisis team, but gave a fake name… I remember the crisis person yelling at us that they were sending the Police around. This was the wrong threat to make, as it gave the protectors hope that help was on the way. They became less vigilant…

We sat down at the table with enough pills for a fatal overdose. It was very mechanical and quick. Again, there was a need to have enough pills to “get some sleep”. Once these were consumed, we went to bed. Again, a panicked waking a few hours later and a ride in an ambulance.

This time it was serious… I knew that because of the number of nurses around. I remember looking over when they took my blood pressure, and saying how good it was (53/45). Usually my blood pressure goes through the roof in hospitals due to anxiety (the next day it was 195/146). I asked if I could go home, because my blood pressure was so good, and it was all just a silly mistake…

I remember the nurses being nice.
I remember them wheeling me down corridors to a ward.
I remember a nurse sitting in a chair at the end of my bed all night.

We called the mother, asking her to come up because we needed help. Our cat needed food…

We were kept in for a couple of days, and again had a psychiatric assessment, this one was much more gentle. They asked about safety and stressors. They gave us options – they suggested hospitalisation, or respite. But the psychiatric ward was fairly full, and the respite place would be different to the one I’ve been to previously. Instead, we were released to the mother (a former nurse) at home.

The thing that blew me away about the medical ward, was their compassion and understanding. I was there for an overdose, but they didn’t judge. They had almost no knowledge of mental health issues (I had to tell them how to spell “dissociative”), but they were respectful of me as an individual…

It’s now over a week since the attempts, and I’m still on shaky ground. Last night, R was very present. I know it was him, because I could clearly see what he wanted – to be wearing just jeans, standing in the middle of the road, in the pouring rain, arms up, yelling (in pain, release, anger???).

I’m very aware that I’m still walking along the cliff edge. One little push will send me over.

It’s times like this that I realise how amazing the people around me can be… WPT came to see me in hospital (twice); while my blog friends have been a steady, calm voice of reason when I needed it desperately… thank you!

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Now playing: The Freshman – The Verve Pipe
via FoxyTunes

Whose driving?

The last two days have been kind of rough.

Heading into Thursday, I was feeling good and had managed to pull myself onto some sort of steady ground.  That all fell apart late Thursday afternoon, when I got an email from the other team leader, calling into question the quality of my work.  That email sent me plunging back into self-doubt, self-hatred and all the other associated negative thinking.  My cynical friend told me to forget it; but it was such a back-stabbing insult that I couldn’t brush it off.  To make it worse, my own team leader wasn’t around to reality check the content of the email, and I didn’t want to run to the manager about it.  This spun me out to the point where I knew I wasn’t safe to drive home.  I stayed on at work for a couple of hours, before driving home and losing most of the evening to the dissociation.

Then, on Friday morning during my drive to work, we went past a “hurt” cat in the middle of the road.  I always dread this sort of thing; not only does it stir up the system because an innocent animal has been hurt, but it’s a trigger for some of the younger ones.  Like a deer caught in headlights, we can never look away… we started reciting “it’s just a jumper that fell out of a car”, hoping that this will change how we see the cat… it doesn’t.  This means we now have adult parts smarting from the insult to our work, and young ones upset that an innocent cat has been hurt.

So we’re now driving down the road reciting out loud “it’s just hurt, it’s ok, it’ll get up soon and the people who love it will come get it and take care of it”.  There was also a promise that we wouldn’t drive home that way, just in case it hadn’t been moved.

Work on Friday is mostly a blank… I know we had a morning tea for the two new people, and that the manager made a triple layer banana and pineapple cake (which did a rather spectacular topple over during the cutting process).  I also know I played around with the iPhone app kooaba, as we’re looking at new ways to try to deliver information through technology such as QR codes and visual recognition apps.  This was fun because we were going around the library, taking random photos of books, CDs and DVDs to see what information kooaba would return.

Then it came to the drive home… all the way up the street where we should have turned off to avoid going by the stretch of road where the cat had been hurt, we were consciously thinking of turning.  Then there was this little mind fit, and we were suddenly past the turn off.  I could hear the panic, but there was also this firm voice telling me to stop being so silly, that there will be nothing there, and it will all be fine.

Thankfully the cat was no longer there, but that didn’t matter, the panic had set in.  We were switching all over the place and I could feel our throat closing up.  Little Michelle came forward full force, meaning that we couldn’t really drive, talk and only barely functioned enough to get home in one piece.  Because we live in a high fenced section, no one saw us getting out of the car shaking like a leaf and stuttering about it hurting.

We got inside, fed Winnie, turned on all the lights, curled up in the corner of the lounge and tried to ease the shaking.  I had no real sense of what was happening, but there were obviously body memories.  The throat was closed off, and no matter how hard I tried, I could barely stutter.  I managed to take some anxiety medication and send the following email to Allison…

turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide

hide got to hide
he’ll find us

I think we finally went to bed at about 8am (it was naturally light by then) and slept for a couple of hours.

Saturday had been good… we’d talked to a friend and took some pictures of the stuffed toy we got for the young ones as their reward for going through the divorce proceedings…

This made me think that tonight was going to be easier… the fear seemed to have eased.  But it’s now 1am Sunday and all the lights are on again.  Little Michelle is ok as long as all the lights are on.  We’re also ok as long as we don’t even think about going to bed.

One of the big problems with this scenario, is that it opens us up to further dissociation and self injury.  We’re so switchy and shaky…

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Where I Stood
via FoxyTunes