So, my husband spends a LOT of time at work lately.
He's been working for nearly two days straight, with about two hours early this morning at home. He finally came home this evening, and I tried my best to bring up what I'd learned about the BPD.
"Honey, do you know what borderline personality disorder is?"
"Yeah."
"How much do you know about it?"
"I mean, I've heard of it before."
....I didn't really know where to go from there. I gave up.
This man is my best friend, truly, but, it's frustrating to feel like you're talking to yourself sometimes. This isn't the first conversation that's fallen flat because his attention was elsewhere, but I personally feel like it's probably the most important. I just want to be able to tell him I know why I've been so crazy my whole life, I finally get it, and... I don't know. I know he would tell me it's great, and then he'd get distracted by something else, and I love him for who he is.
That sure doesn't mean he frustrates me any less, though.
He was tired today, he's going to help his friend move tomorrow, and Sunday we go bowling, and I'd REALLY like to go to church, finally.
And then it's Monday and back to the Monday-Friday only seeing each other long enough to figure out what we're doing for dinner and we don't even talk while we're eating anymore.
He knows I feel this way. I don't want to make him sound like a bad guy, he's not.
I just don't handle life well, I guess.
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Friday, March 9, 2012
The Feminine Tomboy
I was reading Jeanette's post on her feelings about tarot cards, and, while tarot is interesting to me (I have family from Old Salem, it's hard to avoid), the tarot discussion wasn't what caught my attention. It was this quote: "Maybe it's because of the way I was brought up, with my mother always speaking so warmly about feminine intuition, or maybe it's just me. I don't know."
It's no secret that I come from an abusive home, but the thought of a mother raising her child to trust her own intuition was such a powerful idea to me! I've had a lot of ideas, thoughts and plans on raising children when we finally have the money for in-vitro fertilization, but there was something so obvious about the idea of raising your child to trust themselves and I couldn't believe it had never occurred to me.
Then I realized something else- isn't that the ideal outcome of parenting? Isn't the ultimate idea behind raising a child into adulthood raising someone who is trustworthy and dependable, even to the extent that they trust themselves?
It's no secret that I come from an abusive home, but the thought of a mother raising her child to trust her own intuition was such a powerful idea to me! I've had a lot of ideas, thoughts and plans on raising children when we finally have the money for in-vitro fertilization, but there was something so obvious about the idea of raising your child to trust themselves and I couldn't believe it had never occurred to me.
Then I realized something else- isn't that the ideal outcome of parenting? Isn't the ultimate idea behind raising a child into adulthood raising someone who is trustworthy and dependable, even to the extent that they trust themselves?
Monday, February 27, 2012
Pushed Into The Mud
Our group started off today with our burn-out therapist saying she'd watched the movie Restrepo over the weekend and "got" why we're all messed up. She then proceeded to discuss in detail certain gory aspects of war and how she understood why it would mess us up.
Let me remind ya'll- this is a group for people with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The majority of these guys have been through multiple combat experiences AND a lot of us have childhood abuse backgrounds too. Our therapist is a perma-stoned woman old enough to have grandchildren, and has been divorced from an abusive guy with combat-related PTSD for a couple decades.
And this __________ _________ thinks it's a good idea to start off our Monday by speaking graphically about violent, bloody images and experiences.
Five of us walked out.
Let me explain why the therapist is stuck on this movie- sorry, documentary: we have a female soldier (and I use that term lightly in her case) who insists that was her unit and she went through that with them. I don't have to see a bloody, violent infantry movie to know that females aren't sent to places like that was filmed. The stories she tells have no emotional value- they could be taken from a shrink's notes, rather than real life. She talked about going to court, and, when prompted by the therapist she said- in these words- "I spent the entire time searching for an exit."
Nobody spends two hours "searching for an exit". You know where the blasted exit is, and you might spend a lot of time wanting to blow the joint to bits (let's be honest here) but you KNOW WHERE THE EXIT is.
Anyway, five of us walked out when we couldn't handle it anymore. Five of us might sound a lot, if you know that the most common process group therapy size is excessive at about thirteen people. However, there are more than 20 of us in ONE GROUP right now, which is insane at BEST, so it's really a miracle they even noticed we were gone. They "wrote our names down" (holy second grade batman!) and sent the admin dude out to "negotiate" with us. I went off the second I saw him coming out- I got three hours of sleep last night and had two anxiety attacks yesterday, I was in prime shape- and told him our therapist was unable to keep control of our group and discussing things that were setting us off- though I may have been more graphic and not quite as calm about this explanation. We also went off about the two people in our group who lie constantly and obviously and BS about everything. He pulled them out of group individually and spoke to them, the details of which I don't know.
Tonight, I got a phone call from a good friend from group, and he was crying. He'd already taken the drugs, they hadn't kicked in, and he was in meltdown mode. He described the "time-traveling" I do, trying so hard to hold on to reality, while being drowned in memories he didn't want to remember, feeling like he was barely hanging on. This is one of the toughest, most honest, most unbeatable dudes I know, and he calls me crying! I love this man like a brother- we understand each other so well it's scary, like looking in a mirror sometimes. Someone had made a comment about his service dog, and another had made several comments about violent stuff in front of a lot of children. He asked the guy to stop- more than I'm capable of in similar situations.
I am so angry at this therapist and at all these people allowing my friend, my brother to be hurt like this, to be dragged down in the place that's supposed to help pull him up. I'm so upset that these people put him in this situation.
He's better now, it's been a couple hours since the last part of this went down, but.... can nobody be trusted????
Let me remind ya'll- this is a group for people with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The majority of these guys have been through multiple combat experiences AND a lot of us have childhood abuse backgrounds too. Our therapist is a perma-stoned woman old enough to have grandchildren, and has been divorced from an abusive guy with combat-related PTSD for a couple decades.
And this __________ _________ thinks it's a good idea to start off our Monday by speaking graphically about violent, bloody images and experiences.
Five of us walked out.
Let me explain why the therapist is stuck on this movie- sorry, documentary: we have a female soldier (and I use that term lightly in her case) who insists that was her unit and she went through that with them. I don't have to see a bloody, violent infantry movie to know that females aren't sent to places like that was filmed. The stories she tells have no emotional value- they could be taken from a shrink's notes, rather than real life. She talked about going to court, and, when prompted by the therapist she said- in these words- "I spent the entire time searching for an exit."
Nobody spends two hours "searching for an exit". You know where the blasted exit is, and you might spend a lot of time wanting to blow the joint to bits (let's be honest here) but you KNOW WHERE THE EXIT is.
Anyway, five of us walked out when we couldn't handle it anymore. Five of us might sound a lot, if you know that the most common process group therapy size is excessive at about thirteen people. However, there are more than 20 of us in ONE GROUP right now, which is insane at BEST, so it's really a miracle they even noticed we were gone. They "wrote our names down" (holy second grade batman!) and sent the admin dude out to "negotiate" with us. I went off the second I saw him coming out- I got three hours of sleep last night and had two anxiety attacks yesterday, I was in prime shape- and told him our therapist was unable to keep control of our group and discussing things that were setting us off- though I may have been more graphic and not quite as calm about this explanation. We also went off about the two people in our group who lie constantly and obviously and BS about everything. He pulled them out of group individually and spoke to them, the details of which I don't know.
Tonight, I got a phone call from a good friend from group, and he was crying. He'd already taken the drugs, they hadn't kicked in, and he was in meltdown mode. He described the "time-traveling" I do, trying so hard to hold on to reality, while being drowned in memories he didn't want to remember, feeling like he was barely hanging on. This is one of the toughest, most honest, most unbeatable dudes I know, and he calls me crying! I love this man like a brother- we understand each other so well it's scary, like looking in a mirror sometimes. Someone had made a comment about his service dog, and another had made several comments about violent stuff in front of a lot of children. He asked the guy to stop- more than I'm capable of in similar situations.
I am so angry at this therapist and at all these people allowing my friend, my brother to be hurt like this, to be dragged down in the place that's supposed to help pull him up. I'm so upset that these people put him in this situation.
He's better now, it's been a couple hours since the last part of this went down, but.... can nobody be trusted????
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Anxiety
I wasn't anxious, angry or even particularly aware of my symptoms when I woke up this morning.
Then I started focusing on the thoughts about our service dog training session that would happen at the airport this evening, and the anxiety went wayyy up.
Then I got to treatment, and got particularly aggravated by a female soldier who talks about what she insists is PTSD in terms of war movies and text-book-entry-sounding (and ENDLESS) monologues of her "symptoms". Anybody who can sit there and say that she "repeatedly looked for an exit" who doesn't normally sound like a walking dictionary is, in my opinion, full of it.
Judging people is wrong.
I know.
Yet, it's so hard to avoid such sentiments when repeatedly one-upped during group "therapy". Mind you, this group therapy was once nearly life-saving to me. It's incredible how one person can monopolize entire days to the point of ruining it for the majority of the group.
So, anxiety and anger present were en masse.
Usually, anger negates my anxiety- anger allows me to feel in control, while anxiety is an "under attack" sort of feeling.
Today, though, they just seemed to be tag-teaming. I felt like I was fighting the Hardy Boys old-school WWF style.
Once we got to the airport, I was so grateful to have two of my friends from treatment with me. I was on edge already, but hoping I didn't need the "chill pills". I should have taken one.
I almost started crying when a loud buzzer went off to signal the baggage carousel was about to start moving. That wasn't the only time I was fighting back tears.
It's been a long, long, emotional day. We were also informed that our group's therapist is leaving next week. It looks like the lady we'll be getting is the burnt-out hippie that has yet to keep anyone under control. In a group full of combat and rape survivors, all of whom are soldiers, maintaining control over the chaos is VITAL.
Having our trust would help, too.
Sugar did great with training. I'm very proud of her.
I wish I were proud of me, for a change.
Then I started focusing on the thoughts about our service dog training session that would happen at the airport this evening, and the anxiety went wayyy up.
Then I got to treatment, and got particularly aggravated by a female soldier who talks about what she insists is PTSD in terms of war movies and text-book-entry-sounding (and ENDLESS) monologues of her "symptoms". Anybody who can sit there and say that she "repeatedly looked for an exit" who doesn't normally sound like a walking dictionary is, in my opinion, full of it.
Judging people is wrong.
I know.
Yet, it's so hard to avoid such sentiments when repeatedly one-upped during group "therapy". Mind you, this group therapy was once nearly life-saving to me. It's incredible how one person can monopolize entire days to the point of ruining it for the majority of the group.
So, anxiety and anger present were en masse.
Usually, anger negates my anxiety- anger allows me to feel in control, while anxiety is an "under attack" sort of feeling.
Today, though, they just seemed to be tag-teaming. I felt like I was fighting the Hardy Boys old-school WWF style.
Once we got to the airport, I was so grateful to have two of my friends from treatment with me. I was on edge already, but hoping I didn't need the "chill pills". I should have taken one.
I almost started crying when a loud buzzer went off to signal the baggage carousel was about to start moving. That wasn't the only time I was fighting back tears.
It's been a long, long, emotional day. We were also informed that our group's therapist is leaving next week. It looks like the lady we'll be getting is the burnt-out hippie that has yet to keep anyone under control. In a group full of combat and rape survivors, all of whom are soldiers, maintaining control over the chaos is VITAL.
Having our trust would help, too.
Sugar did great with training. I'm very proud of her.
I wish I were proud of me, for a change.
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Empty Mirror
I am being medically discharged from the US Army.
I am incapable of conceiving children without paying a middle-class fortune ($4,000-$20,000 per cycle depending on the timing and what the doctors decide) to some doctor with medications and big needles.
I am no longer the Soldier I was, let alone ever having become the Soldier I hoped to become.
I am not the mother I wanted to be, and there is no light at the end of that tunnel, either.
What is left of me?
I'm not a soldier.
I'm not a mother.
Most days, I'm not even much of a wife.
I am a walking void.
Men traditionally hold down the jobs: I was proud to be able to support myself and not need anyone else.
I've lost that.
Women traditionally bear children, raise them, and keep house. I'm not capable of any of the above- I can't even manage grocery shopping.
There
Is
Nothing
Left
I am incapable of conceiving children without paying a middle-class fortune ($4,000-$20,000 per cycle depending on the timing and what the doctors decide) to some doctor with medications and big needles.
I am no longer the Soldier I was, let alone ever having become the Soldier I hoped to become.
I am not the mother I wanted to be, and there is no light at the end of that tunnel, either.
What is left of me?
I'm not a soldier.
I'm not a mother.
Most days, I'm not even much of a wife.
I am a walking void.
Men traditionally hold down the jobs: I was proud to be able to support myself and not need anyone else.
I've lost that.
Women traditionally bear children, raise them, and keep house. I'm not capable of any of the above- I can't even manage grocery shopping.
There
Is
Nothing
Left
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