I just flipped out on my dog and my husband.
Fortunately, it wasn't violent this time, but I'm sure I scared both of them badly.
I'm ashamed of who I've become, I'm ashamed of the monster looking back at me.
I don't get a break from the things going on in my head, from the problems, or from the pain. It all gets worse when I go to work, and that used to be my refuge from it all. I sobered up two years, eleven months and three weeks ago as of today, and it seems like a bad idea to go back on that, although, lately, words can't describe how much I miss the alcohol. Medical marijuana would certainly help give me a break, but that's not an option for me now, either. I can't get away from it, I have no escape and no refuge.
I have no idea how I'll survive this.
Showing posts with label self hate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self hate. Show all posts
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Save Me
Today is my daughter's almost-birthday.
It would have been her birthday if I hadn't miscarried her a few months into the pregnancy, when my fourteen year old body, riddled with drugs my mother forced me to take every day, which I didn't need, could no longer keep both itself and a child alive.
I still love her.
She would have been eleven today.
It's been a long day, and the new therapist at treatment is most assuredly the devil incarnate.
Fortunately, I bring my journal to treatment with me- well, one of my journals- and I get more therapy from that than this woman most days.
Today, I cried- just like the last two days. The husband and I are still happy together, but the PTSD, in a combined effort with the military, is making our lives a living hell. Between flashbacks, ab responses, nightmares, blackouts, and field exercises, when we're together, we're mostly struggling just to avoid hurting one another.
I made a decision this afternoon that I'll have to make again in the morning. I'm going running tomorrow morning. I'm not going JOGGING in the morning, I'm going RUNNING. I'm going to run down the street, with my dog, around the corner, to the light and back, and if we have to stop, we will, but I'm going to try really hard to just let loose tomorrow morning. I don't want this primal side of me to be caged anymore. I can't open up at treatment most of the time, now because I don't trust the therapist, but also because of the guy who admitted to being a sexual predator and the guy who won't talk about anything but his penis and sex life. Maybe if I push myself to the brink, if I stop being scared of feeling fear or anger and just feel it anyway, and RUN like my life depended on it, maybe then the tears and sweat and pain and weakness will have a place to go. Maybe if I open the floodgate, I won't have to prod anything to come out.
I need this.
It would have been her birthday if I hadn't miscarried her a few months into the pregnancy, when my fourteen year old body, riddled with drugs my mother forced me to take every day, which I didn't need, could no longer keep both itself and a child alive.
I still love her.
She would have been eleven today.
It's been a long day, and the new therapist at treatment is most assuredly the devil incarnate.
Fortunately, I bring my journal to treatment with me- well, one of my journals- and I get more therapy from that than this woman most days.
Today, I cried- just like the last two days. The husband and I are still happy together, but the PTSD, in a combined effort with the military, is making our lives a living hell. Between flashbacks, ab responses, nightmares, blackouts, and field exercises, when we're together, we're mostly struggling just to avoid hurting one another.
I made a decision this afternoon that I'll have to make again in the morning. I'm going running tomorrow morning. I'm not going JOGGING in the morning, I'm going RUNNING. I'm going to run down the street, with my dog, around the corner, to the light and back, and if we have to stop, we will, but I'm going to try really hard to just let loose tomorrow morning. I don't want this primal side of me to be caged anymore. I can't open up at treatment most of the time, now because I don't trust the therapist, but also because of the guy who admitted to being a sexual predator and the guy who won't talk about anything but his penis and sex life. Maybe if I push myself to the brink, if I stop being scared of feeling fear or anger and just feel it anyway, and RUN like my life depended on it, maybe then the tears and sweat and pain and weakness will have a place to go. Maybe if I open the floodgate, I won't have to prod anything to come out.
I need this.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Borderline Between Happy And Insane
Last night, my husband had to work most of the night, and I thought he was going to have to be gone the entire night. Knowing I have been in a pretty dark, unstable place lately, I asked a good friend if he was alright with me crashing on his couch, so I wouldn't be isolated or alone in case something came up. Being the awesome friend he is, he said that would be great.
We were sitting there, about eleven at night, watching Smokey And The Bandit and talking. He was highlighting some papers he'd printed off, mostly about Borderline Personality Disorder. His ex-girlfriend of several years exhibits a LOT of symptoms of this, and he was reading some of the more surprising/dead-on ones out loud. Several of them hit me really close to home, although my habits aren't quite as extreme as most folks diagnosed with BPD exhibit.
When my friend mentioned that it's generally caused by neglect in childhood, my ears perked up. One of the most common symptoms is idealization and devaluation episodes- and I don't go to the extremes his ex-girlfriend did, but I have, for a long time, recognized the pattern of behavior in myself. Many of my relationships wouldn't last a month- things were ideal at first, beautiful, wonderful, what I wanted for the rest of my life, and then it seemed reality would set in and I was out. I can look at the explanations of BPD now, and realize that many of the behaviors I've worked so hard to change have been linked as much to a milder form of BPD as to PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder are very commonly diagnosed in the same person, and are considered to be very closely linked issues. I can see, with the information that I have now, that the way I've idealized my husband much of the time, only to find myself on other days playing with a lot of "what if's" in my head is simply another symptom of all of this. I can see that the rapid emotional changes aren't simply my reactions to trauma-related stimuli. I have recognized, over many years now, that I have had some pretty major abandonment issues, and, reflecting on my life, I'm really not terribly surprised by that.
Am I happy to know that I have symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder? Not a chance. It is, however, a little bit of weight off my shoulders knowing that my lack of gratitude, my bouncy-ball emotions, my fear of abandonment and unexplainable jealousy isn't just a character flaw that I've inherited from my mother or something. It feels really good to know that even the non-PTSD behaviors that have frustrated and worried me are logical and something that can be dealt with.
We were sitting there, about eleven at night, watching Smokey And The Bandit and talking. He was highlighting some papers he'd printed off, mostly about Borderline Personality Disorder. His ex-girlfriend of several years exhibits a LOT of symptoms of this, and he was reading some of the more surprising/dead-on ones out loud. Several of them hit me really close to home, although my habits aren't quite as extreme as most folks diagnosed with BPD exhibit.
When my friend mentioned that it's generally caused by neglect in childhood, my ears perked up. One of the most common symptoms is idealization and devaluation episodes- and I don't go to the extremes his ex-girlfriend did, but I have, for a long time, recognized the pattern of behavior in myself. Many of my relationships wouldn't last a month- things were ideal at first, beautiful, wonderful, what I wanted for the rest of my life, and then it seemed reality would set in and I was out. I can look at the explanations of BPD now, and realize that many of the behaviors I've worked so hard to change have been linked as much to a milder form of BPD as to PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder are very commonly diagnosed in the same person, and are considered to be very closely linked issues. I can see, with the information that I have now, that the way I've idealized my husband much of the time, only to find myself on other days playing with a lot of "what if's" in my head is simply another symptom of all of this. I can see that the rapid emotional changes aren't simply my reactions to trauma-related stimuli. I have recognized, over many years now, that I have had some pretty major abandonment issues, and, reflecting on my life, I'm really not terribly surprised by that.
Am I happy to know that I have symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder? Not a chance. It is, however, a little bit of weight off my shoulders knowing that my lack of gratitude, my bouncy-ball emotions, my fear of abandonment and unexplainable jealousy isn't just a character flaw that I've inherited from my mother or something. It feels really good to know that even the non-PTSD behaviors that have frustrated and worried me are logical and something that can be dealt with.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Forget
Today, I got angry.
I was angry the whole morning in fact.
I calmed down after an anxiety attack forced me to take a benzo chill pill.
I was proud of myself after that. I went to the office and to my fathers, just me and my service dog, without my husband, for the first time in months.
Then I got lost driving home. I tried to take the route I take every day. I still got lost. I couldn't remember/figure out where I was for about fifteen minutes. I got scared, angry, and cried. I eventually found I-10 and found my way back.
I cried after I got home, and apparently fell asleep doing so. I woke up a bit later, fed the husband and the dog.
I went into the closet to get something, something fell, and I got so angry I threw something- narrowly missing my husband.
I really hate who I am today. I don't know who I actually am anymore, because if your actions don't define who you are, what does? I'm not a good person anymore. I don't even want to look in the mirror. I try to dress nice, I try to force myself to do things for myself, but, really, if it's not doing something for my service dog or my husband, it really doesn't seem like there's a point anymore. I'm angry, anxious, and I keep causing more problems for myself and everybody else.
I don't want to be this person anymore.
I was angry the whole morning in fact.
I calmed down after an anxiety attack forced me to take a benzo chill pill.
I was proud of myself after that. I went to the office and to my fathers, just me and my service dog, without my husband, for the first time in months.
Then I got lost driving home. I tried to take the route I take every day. I still got lost. I couldn't remember/figure out where I was for about fifteen minutes. I got scared, angry, and cried. I eventually found I-10 and found my way back.
I cried after I got home, and apparently fell asleep doing so. I woke up a bit later, fed the husband and the dog.
I went into the closet to get something, something fell, and I got so angry I threw something- narrowly missing my husband.
I really hate who I am today. I don't know who I actually am anymore, because if your actions don't define who you are, what does? I'm not a good person anymore. I don't even want to look in the mirror. I try to dress nice, I try to force myself to do things for myself, but, really, if it's not doing something for my service dog or my husband, it really doesn't seem like there's a point anymore. I'm angry, anxious, and I keep causing more problems for myself and everybody else.
I don't want to be this person anymore.
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