Free Association

Blank page. Blank canvas. Blank expression. There’s no expressing this, whatever this is.

Write through it.

A blog post made by another blogger that I read the other day comes to mind. “Don’t post that. Don’t send that.” Damn, I wish I hadn’t read that. Now, I’m second-guessing myself.

I wish I hadn’t sent….

I should have left well enough alone.

Self-doubt is an enemy. My inner critic is jumping for joy. She knows she won a battle. “I told you so,” she mocks sardonically. There’s nothing left to say. I’ve begged. I’ve pleaded. No difference to be made. Just silence. No closure, only abandonment.

Alienated — the perfect word. Google’s definition:

al·ien·ate [ˈālyəˌnāt/]
verb past tense: alienated; past participle: alienated 
          1. cause (someone) to feel isolated or estranged.

The word “alienated” reminds me that I feel like an alien on this planet — somehow misplaced in time and space, somehow not meant to interact with the dominant species. “Accept it. Get over it. Submit. Conform. Obey.” Their mantras ring in my ears. Understandable incantations for a culture hell-bent on accepting/enforcing enslavement, a culture hell-bent on bringing about its self-fulfilling prophecy of Armageddon, a culture so far removed from Spirit that it creates gods to worship rather than revere creation itself.

“You’re not one of them,” my inner critic says (or is it another?). “They cannot understand. It’s not in their nature.”

“I’m in this body. I am one of them… for now,” I reply. I wouldn’t want to be this for all eternity. It’s crazy making — the very definition of insanity. For the brief moment that is this human existence, I wait. I watch. I observe. I experience what it means to be human.

I’m only here to witness, a quiet observer during a time of tribulation — the end/beginning of a new cycle. I chose to be here. I chose to live this life. Although I prefer the lightness of the spirit realm, the dream world, over this reality — if this is even reality — I’m stuck here... for now.

This body is so heavy. This world weighs me down as if gravity itself is made up of the suffering of 7 billion and counting. Caught in the crossfire, my own suffering reflects that of many others — an empathic connection to the collective consciousness. So many, though, suffer far greater. My pain is not only my own, but their pain as well. I struggle to see where I end and they begin.

Nepal. Such great sadness and despair.

Out of balance, a planet so out of balance. She regurgitates her suffering into the organisms that dominate her existence — organisms so much like a plague of parasites, feeding off her energy for sustenance. She knows no resolution except a resolute demise. She demands that we listen rather than deny.

A couple of hours wasted in deep philosophical thought that I couldn’t make sense of…. Why do I do that?

STOP.

What’s really bothering me?

April 27th. He’s 16 years old today, the child I gave up for adoption. I wonder what kind of young man he is turning out to be. What are his interests? What are his beliefs? I know he was being raised Catholic. What has he experienced? What does he look like? I only have photos of him from birth through about 2 and half years old. I wonder if he looks like him. That thought scares me. What if he chooses to seek me out? What would I tell him?

“That’s in the future, not today.” A small voice in the back of my mind reminds me.

His birth feels like a lifetime ago, a separate reality. The pain of that time is still there — fear of experiencing such a huge loss again; fear of no one believing me when I say, “I was raped;” fear of other people’s judgment; shame in being blamed for having been raped; shame for getting pregnant; anger that I had to go through ALL of that alone; and the deep, deep sadness of knowing I couldn’t raise a child I carried in my womb for 9 months. I cannot describe with accurate detail the ache in my heart and arms after I gave him up for adoption. I knew it was the right thing to do for him; but it hurt.

It still hurts. Time does not heal all wounds.

 

Speaking Out

It’s been a weird day. First, I was awakened by a phone call from my Mom’s neighbor after only 6 hours of sleep. In my groggy state of mind, my concern quickly turned to panic after I realized who it was. She told me that she had heard about a wreck today involving one of the transport vehicles that takes my mom to dialysis. She couldn’t get my mom on the phone to check on her, so she called me to see if I had heard anything. After our short conversation, I immediately called my mom who was sitting at dialysis watching game shows (the fact that she was watching game shows cracked me up). She sounded in good spirits.

Thankfully, the wreck didn’t involve the van she rode today; but it still makes me sad to hear that one had an accident. I told Mom everything her neighbor told me and how sincerely concerned she was. After I spoke with Mom, I called her neighbor back to let her know that Mom was safe and sound at dialysis. She expressed her thanks and shared that she almost had a panic attack with worry. I thought to myself, “That shows a deep level of consideration,” but told her, “Believe me, I know what those feel like!” Also, I hope I successfully conveyed how much I appreciate her concern and consideration for my mother because I am so thankful that Mom has such great neighbors.


The second thing is more of an update to my last post. I finally called the Clinical Services Coordinator yesterday and left her a message to call me back. I’m wondering if I’m the only person who has to write out a “script” before leaving such messages on answering services, but at least I got through it and left the message. She called back today just after KR left for work. There was good reason for my case manager not keeping her appointment with me on Friday. She is “no longer employed” by the center where I receive care. Hearing this really took me by surprise. I was told another case manager has been assigned to me and should be calling within the next couple of days. I think this is something I will privately journal about to work out in my head as change is a huge issue for me.

I also attempted to tell the CSC my concerns and confusion about my last appointment with my therapist and how therapy ended — with great difficulty, I might add. I hadn’t prepared a script in order to express myself clearly, so I probably sounded like a stuttering fool. WHY is it so hard for me to communicate?! I struggled to get the words out. I don’t remember what she said in response, other than the suggestion to write everything out and how I am feeling about it. Since I’ve already pretty much done that here on my blog, that should be pretty easy. I’ve considered writing a letter to my therapist about this for the past 3 months; but my stubbornness has gotten the better of me (I’m wondering if stubbornness is my default reaction to feeling hurt), not to mention fear of confrontation (read that: fear of my own RAGE or possibly my therapist’s anger or frustration with me) lead me to avoiding the situation altogether.

When the CSC asked if I wanted to continue therapy, I told her I don’t know what I want to do. It’s more than ambivalence. It’s like paralyzing — completely immobilizing — indecisiveness, the best description I can think of. I’ve thought about it for 3 months. I need to figure it out!


The lighter side of the weirdness today was that our neighbors found a puppy living underneath their house. No idea how long he had been there. The puppy bears a striking resemblance in coloring to their 1-year-old dog, a German Shepherd mix, and a striking resemblance in body shape and coat texture to another neighbor’s Great Pyrenees (beautiful dog!). I’ve often caught those two nose-to-nose at the fence; so who knows? We often joked that the two were having a secret romance. If she was carrying only one puppy, could it be possible that all of us just missed the pregnancy as she matured? Then again, it’s also possible that the puppy wandered over from one of the other farms. It’s really quite a mystery that has all of us baffled.


 

I’m also feeling a little sad today as it’s the anniversary of my father’s death. It’s hard for me to believe he’s been gone for 11 years, now. I didn’t realize just how much the loss affected me until years later, but his death (diabetes complications) left a gaping hole in my heart. In the years since, I regretted not knowing more about his early years, his hopes and dreams, and his views on life and death. My dad taught me the value and benefit of living a simple life. “Things” are not nearly as important as finding what you love and what brings you peace of mind. I shared his love of nature and find comfort in the outdoors. He warned never buy on credit what you cannot purchase with cash because debt only leads to suffering — advice I wish I had taken more seriously early on in my married, adult life so that I wouldn’t have had to learn that lesson the hard way. My dad was a man of few words, but I knew he loved me even if he couldn’t say those words.

Feeling Confused

Tonight, I find myself wondering how many people enter mental health services only to find that the care they receive is inadequate or unhelpful at best, damaging at worst. Do mental health centers purposefully attempt to break their clients further in order to prove a point, like some sort of screwed up reverse psychology? Are all clients regarded by mental health professionals to be so broken and damaged that none can be trusted enough to actually want the help they sought out in the first place? I’m really trying to understand the motives behind what these “professionals” do.

It’s unfortunate that I’ve had so many awful experiences with psychiatric care in the past because those experiences are clouding my judgment with regard to my current mental healthcare situation. I don’t know if what I’m experiencing and feeling is rational or irrational. At the moment, I’m feeling confused, completely befuddled and unable to trust my instinct that the system is harming me further, rather than helping. Yet, my only alternative seems to be to cope and deal with my mental illness on my own. I feel like a skipping record, asking myself the same questions over and over again, expecting a different answer — the very definition of insanity.

I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I expect to happen.

I was supposed to have an appointment with my case manager yesterday; but again, she was a no-show. No phone call, no text to reschedule — nothing. This feels like a repeat of last year when she missed several appointments. I should say something to the Clinical Services Coordinator again (I ended up speaking with the CSC last year about my case manager missing appointments after my therapist encouraged me to do so). I called the CSC yesterday after my case manager didn’t show up; but I couldn’t make myself leave a message. I should call my case manager to demand an explanation, just like I should have sent an email to my therapist to express my confusion over our last appointment.

Maybe, ALL of this is simply a test of my avoidance issues.

Upcoming Anniversaries and Echoes

I’m learning that I literally have to take the time I need to do just about anything, not just the hobbies I enjoy, but also chores and errands. I mean really force myself into whatever I need or want to get done. This is so difficult when fighting depression (and anxiety and the weirdness that is dissociation that runs rampant this time of year for me). It would be so much easier to simply stay in bed, sleep a while longer, rest my weary mind. I’m so tired so much of the time, regardless of how much sleep I actually get. Coming out of the winter “blahs,” I’m struggling to reset my system and to find that “happy place” where spring usually takes me.

But today… today was more of a sense of urgency, that feeling of desperation — almost like the extreme anxiety that leads to a panic attack, but also an apprehensiveness or helplessness that I can’t explain. There’s really no reason for me to be feeling this way. My life is fairly stable at this time. KR and I are getting along well. Financially, we’re making the bills just fine. Yet, this pervasive feeling is so overwhelming, I can only conclude it is an echo of my past. As I drift in and out of conscious awareness, displaced emotions, numbness, and flat-out dissociation, I don’t know what to do with any of it.

It’s times like these that I need someone who truly understands to talk to; but it’s also times like these that I cannot make myself reach out for help.

Does anyone else experience this? What do you do?