I suppose I’ll tell you now, this is more like a journal entry, a rant, a musing, a questioning…I’m seeking things and trying to find it this way…we’ll see
Here’s a Tune for you to enjoy. It’s called “Lost in My Mind” by The Head & the Heart:
So I’m constantly trying to figure it out–the IT being what happened and what’s happening and a little bit of what will happen. The problem, what makes it so damn hard to write, is I think it must either be the bipolar disorder or the dissociation that has me chasing my f’n tail. I’m trying so hard to always to gage myself and what I do and say and feel, I’m my own worse critic and judge, because I want to know if I’m getting out of this PTSD shit. Am I evolving, or only involving excess? I have times where I dive into the emotions and the ambiguous feelings and the actions and reactions I have (not digging into the past but into the present). I swim around in it and really get pretty far with discovering patterns and behaviors, progress and declines. Then something happens…I space out. I get tired of it. I get so exhausted. And time slips by and I make myself busy (what’s a disabled gal to do but beach it and read and study study study and art art art) and its like I wake up and forgot everything I sought, all the answers I was on the brink of have disappeared or seem foolish. I don’t know where I am (spiritually, socially, and mentally). Doubt comes like big city shadows across buildings and I’m this little black jerk in the alley. It’s only natural that kick my self in the ass for this, for doing it again, for getting so close to something, getting ahead, getting ‘somewhere’ and then bang, I vanish. I lapse back. Am I subconsciously protecting myself? Or is it mania and lows? Or is it the ADHD’s exhaustion and lack of focus after too strong of a focus? Ya know I keep thinking about when I had my animal totems read by White Buffalo Woman, a proud member of the Lakota Tribe. She took me under her wing when I first began to ensue writing as a living because it was my passion. Her sociology class in college drew us close and she took me to do a reading. I have it all written down somewhere it was AMAZING. But i’ll never get over this: when it came time to see what my spiritual guide was, (and this was before the temperature in my brain and all the disorders escalated) and at the time I believed I was tough, strong, solid–because I fought against those that abused and abandoned me–so I thought highly of my secretly fractured self. I mean come on Amy–you were burning out on fumes. Anyways, she asked me what I thought my spiritaul guide was and I felt this well of pride in my chest for how far I’d come so I’d said “A Lion.” Yes. I f’n said “a lion.” Oh to be young and to dream that ego up. We did the cards and what I chose stunned and disgusted me then but is actually soooooo sooooo true to who I am (with the PTSD/trauma). I chose the animal that plays dead in danger: the possum. Hehee that cracks me up now. I’m so possum. I left there broken hearted that day and feeling like an idiot. If I’d only known then how true it was, and that it wasn’t so bad. It’s not like I play dead to everything (hear I am still trying to make myself feel better about it 🙂
Maybe I’m forgetting the important thing–to just be. To let myself feel what I feel, be as I am, be in the now, stay present (had lots of practice on that in the bin!) instead of examining everything so closely to prove to myself that I’ll be okay. I need to know that I’ll be okay and that I’ll be prepared if anything backlashes–like the EMDR coming up with a counselor that really doesn’t know me that well. I want to be bold and brave like I used to feel but moreso I don’t want to be STUPID. Is he the right therapist to do this with? I miss my old psychotherapist. Saw her for ten years. I stopped because it got too personal, too involved, and too much about herself. But now I want her back, the tradeoffs were worth it. Because she KNEW me. She got me through some rough-ass times. Because of her I had no rage and anger issues in the thick of the PTSD–I was looking beyond that for my meaning and my purpose and what I could get out of it. My abuser couldn’t have anymore of me, I was hungry for myself. She knew these things. She’s brilliant. She’s also too personal and opinionated. I don’t know what to do.
I’m going back to the Upanishads and Alan Watts. I need to get my feet on something sacred. I need to…regain my fragile lucus of controlf. I see my situation like a fushigi ball, know those things? It’s mirrored center ball “doesn’t move” it reflects, and there’s a clear, thick ball or coat around it that you use to rotate it and make it look like gravitational magic, the centers not moving as you manipulate your hands. Yeah. Info-mercial. My child “had to have it.” I kind of play with it. But anyway, (clearly this is a sporadic, moodified journal post and I apologize to all who were looking to read something that contained a point). Anyway, I don’t take much stock in the life that is happening around me as of yet (apparently I’ve stopped “being” that much is clear) because I’m too preoccupied with looking at my reflection. That’s it. I’ve figured out my problem. So what. What do I see in me? Or is it her? Do I still see this woman I’m trying to be as this “her” that I’ll someday fill. Filling my hands–I”m constantly trying to fill my hands: I set up boundaries between me and my ex, which was goddamned hard, and I decided to press charges against my abuser. I also am teetering on facing him and getting it from him–the whole truth. But will I get it? Can I stand it? I’m testing my waters so I can move–move somewhere, in some direction.
I picked up my old PTSD workbook, got another book called Trauma and Recovery which is okay, and got The Stranger in the Mirror on my kindle, though I prefer these texts as actual books. And I read at the beach with my daughter or at night and I’m wondering why it feels new to me–these facts? I’ve already read the hell outa them before. It’s like I need proof to know I feel the way I do and live the way I do for a reason. I need facts to show me that my feelings are valid, real, and mine and should be respected. I’m floundering in the respect arena. With my ex, with my sisters, with my mother. My family, they love me, they support me, they’ve been there for me like nobody’s business, yet….I have this lingering ick in my gut that they see me as this sick, disabled woman who is too messed up with ptsd, bipolar moods, adhd, and dissociation and insecurities that she can’t tell her own damn way around. that she doesn’t know what’s best for her, that her opinions and convictions have great purpose and make sense. Why do I feel so disrespected by them lately? Why do I feel like they see me by my labels? I’m still Amy; I’m still hot-headed and quick to defend; I’m learning how to respect myself; I don’t judge ANYONE, so why do I feel so judged? It’s shunning. It makes me angry. Furious. And I don’t know how to tell them “Hey, it’s ME for Christ’s sake, if you don’t take stock in what I say about what I want to do with my life, then fuck the fuck off!” But no, amiable me doesn’t want to cause anything, because I deeply doubt myself and think my chemistry is playing tricks on me and that they’re right. Good God. I gotta quit writing for now, I’m getting irked. Later.
3 thoughts on “In Circles”
I don’t know what to say. I happened upon this via stumble-upon, and I’m glad I did.
Ive been searching for answers, as to why i feel like I’m some sort of plague no one wants to be around, why I can’t seem to find respect in any degree of life. Why it seems that I’m the only one who is going through this, and why they all seem to have that quick stare at me when they think I’m not looking. Like I’m some sort of freak cause of the way I think.
I figured at first that I had some sort of mental problem. But people with problems like that never know they have em. Its all just labels. Then I figured It must be the way I act or something horrible thing about my body or face that turned people off of me. Turns out, most girls find me quite attractive. So it had to be my personality right? obviously. People just dont like me. never will.
But that cant be it. My parents might have abused me growing up, but I have friends, people whom I call family now. They all like me, otherwise they wouldnt talk to me. they wouldnt say hi, ask for my opinion, call on me for help, laugh with me.
And I understand it now, at least I think I do. And thats enough for me. Im just too sensitive. Im hurt too easily. I put everything I have in everyone I meet, and it turns out that alot of people are jerks out there. And they take it and run. Thats not me, its them. Theres nothing wrong with me. I’m just fine.
So I thank you. For answering that one question that had nagged at me for years and years, am I alone? Nobody else suffers from this? It has brought me great solace. And I truly, truly hope it does for you.
With all my heart, to the person who wrote this, to “Amy”, if this is your first name, I love you. Not in a creepy stranger danger way, but in a grateful, caring, human being- to- another kind of way. Thank you so much, You have given me my sanity with your words.
oh, amy – I feel the same way….filling my hands with activities – but they are ones that make me feel good about myself – writing, art, photography, painting. My spiritual advisors suggest that I stop trying become something I am not (i.e., “normal” – whatever that is! 🙂 I’m like a square peg who spent my whole life trying to fit in a round hole. Ouch!
Right now I am working on what my counselor calls “radical acceptance” of myself. Its tough but I want to be healthy and happy so I keep working on it. I judge myself ruthlessly. As a child, my feelings weren’t validated which makes it difficult for me to trust my feelings as an adult.
As far as family and friends – they have no clue what it is like to have mental illness, so I stay connected to those who do, those who “get it.” My family and friends are wonderful, supportive and loving but they look at me like I have three heads sometimes when I tell them some of my thoughts. So, now I just tell them to those who have been where I am and have made it through – the ones who get it.
I get it, Amy. I know you do, too 🙂