That’s Who I *WAS*, NOT Who I Am.

***Trigger Warning: SA of a child, Grooming, Suicidal Ideation***

I have not been writing lately. Totally did not meet my goal to write x-amount of days in 2020. I felt like writing today so here I am.

I have been doing a lot of work in the last 1.5 years. Therapy every single week with few exceptions. And actually doing the work during and after the session. I am making sure to note this to myself because there was a 6-month period where I had sessions every week and wasted both my, and the therapist’s, time.

It has been hard. That’s a part of why I couldn’t write pretty much all of last year. I have felt one incident away from wanting life to be over. Just sitting in this hole and giving up because honestly who would chose to have this (see trigger warning) happen and then have to talk about it. Straight up feels like those TikToks: double homicide.

I just finished therapy today and for the first time ever I feel all the bad things I feel about myself are surrounding who I was not who I am today. I am not “fixed”, aka at the point where I only need checkups, but I am able to speak facts, data and proof into the abyss of my childhood to say “I am better than that”. I am not slutty or whorish or all the other things people made me feel as a child.

The gag though, and what I am still working on, is not blaming myself. Not feeling it was my fault a late 30s male decided to start grooming me at 10 which resulted in SA around 15 and beyond.

I am so proud I am able to type that out.

6 months ago I could never. One month ago, I would not have been able to then either. Today it frightens the crap out of me. I still feel it is my fault. I still feel I deserved it but what has shifted, what I realize today in my session, is that the I that I blame is not me today. I have grown and adapted. I am not that desperate kid. I would never let him do those things to me today.

Today’s version of me is not who I was. Today’s me is just someone trying her best to better than I was yesterday.

Hard Morning

I am bawling this morning. The stress of this shit is getting to me. My husband, either this time or the next time or the next, is susceptible to this virus. He could die. Our anniversary is coming up. I can’t allow myself to think about our next anniversary. He promised me 78 years.

I have to sit here and keep my shit together. I can’t fall apart at work. I have to keep it together because I don’t want to stress my hubs. I haven’t touched my husband in over a week and the way it is looking, I may not be able to do so for a while. That’s because this shit can kill me.

I am not overreacting. I am one of more susceptible people. Even the milder version can kill me. I would never, ever, ever put that weight on my husband. Honestly I don’t think I have it. To keep it that way, I have to stay inside and I have to stay away from husband.

FUCK THIS SHIT!!

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I Don’t Know

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I started this posted with a bunch of jokes and a “The Enemy Within” title. Thing is I am trying to avoid what I am feeling. First off, hubs has not been showing any symptoms. The highly possibly infected person with whom he had contact with has the “quiet” C-19. To me that means that he IS infected. But he is going back to work in a week if nothing changes. Even if patient’s test results haven’t come back. Also the CDC not willing to have him or anyone else like this tested because limited amount of tests so want for folks with symptoms. Except those folks didn’t go “well geewillikers Batman, I have nothing going on, let’s get tested for C-19.” They knew they were sick and could quarantine themselves. I am going to stop before rant goes on for 5 more paragraphs.

What are we going to do? Figure shit out. Until this is over, and I mean over over, then we have to treat him like he is infected since he touches patients and works in areas that have a high concentration of sick people. This shit can kill me so we have to be prudent… but if someone has two of these suits, hubs and I can make our anniversary happen

So You Are Saying I Can’t Drink?

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Fact 1: My husband works in healthcare and has direct patient contact. Fact 2: It is the Covid-19 (C-19) pandemic. Fact 3: We live in a very large city. Fact 4: my husband is in quarantine in our house because he had a possible exposure to C-19. Fact 5: I am losing my fucking mind mmkay?

My hubs has been in this field for forever. I did my research about needle sticks, fluids (blood, barf, amniotic) exposure and how to manage it. It is textbook me to research all the crazy shit that could happen so I can make a decision tree. Form of Exposure: liquid, solid or gas. Form of Response: wash his shit, handle your shit, lose your shit. Simple. All that planning doesn’t tell you how it feels.

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Right now I am switching between whispering “omg, omg, omg, clean that, omg”. Other times I am being the ever solicitous nurse, garbed in an N95 mask, gloves and clothes I will surely burn at the end of this. By the way, we have all this stuff because my decision tree making was worth something dammit!

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He is home. The patient he had contact with did not have her C-19 test come back yet so this is precautionary. We have everything we need. I could not leave this house for 30 days and we would be good. He is strong, healthy and really stubborn. I can take care of him. We have a ton of family here. I am WFH vs. Going into office. We have a spare bedroom and bathroom setup where he can be properly quarantined. I am scared. I am scared. I am scared

I have been trying to avoid feeling anything since last night when I got the call. That has held up, shakily, until now. I have never been patient so this waiting is like slowly taking the oxygen out the room and my chest is just getting tighter and tighter. A year ago, I would pour myself a very generous glass of something powerful (Scotch/whiskey drinker here) and lean back and have the alcohol do its magic. I was there right before writing this.

I want that drink. I am not an alcoholic. I would only have one. All of these statements are true. What is a terrible mixer with a nice scotch? Lithium with a dollop of powerful depression drugs. Sucks ass as a mix really and I never liked mixed drinks so here I am writing this bullshit. Also, the drinking won’t fix it. All of my other old coping mechanisms won’t fix this especially the sex one. Can you see it? Me wearing Eau de Covid sliding up to breathe my possibly C-19 infested breath across their ear. Yeah, No.

Creator: SDI Productions
Credit: Getty Images

Therapist M: What should you doing when feeling like this? Me: Break into an Amazon warehouse for all the lysol they have then hit the FDA for the C-19 shot they probably sitting on? Therapist M: um…no. JOURNAL. Do I need to call that into the authorities?! Me: OKAY!! I will journal…dammit.

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First World Problems

Lithium tablets tastes like bitter chalk. Smelly bitter chalk. It tastes like how Durian smells. If I had to choose between lithium and prednisone, I would run in prednisone’s bitter, bloat causing arms. When you decide to try gel capsules instead.. That was a nope…NOPE

I hate the taste of it so much, I have to talk myself into talking it. I will buy “treats” because much like my dog I will roll over and let the robbers take all the electronics for the right prize. This is the routine: drop meds down the hatch, chase with sweet fruit juice so sweet I wouldn’t drink any other time and then the Precious…um…treat.

We are facing the COVID19 pandemic right now. I am not sure about other places, so speaking about U.S.A., the things I take for granted. I wish I could say it is some grand thing like food and water. No…my first world problem is I can’t. Get. My. Fruit Juice. You know the thing I use to wipe the taste from my mouth. I haven’t gone into a grocery store in years and I get it delivered. Insert tiny violin who gives no fucks for my privileged ass. I. Can’t. Get. Delivery. So I am without my juice and without my chocolate minis. *slides dramatically down the wall*.

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Safe Spaces

In one of my therapy sessions I was asked to imagine a place where I feel/felt safe. The place that instantly came to mind is a room in my house with lots of plants. I like it in here. I normally come in here to read or do yoga. That’s the vibe it has: peaceful. During the same session about this place, Therapist O said whenever I need to, go to that place. He meant it mentally for the session and I use it both mentally and physically when I can. Also I really REALLY appreciate that he did not say which feeling should send me there. As in, he could have said whenever you are feeling X you can go into the space. What if I am not feeling X but really need it? That could have been limiting to my rule follower self.

Today I am hiding out in my place. I am really sad? upset? Angry? That i can’t sort my feelings easily after years of suppressing everything but anger.

My heartrate is up. My brain is spinning. I feel the need to move. I think this is anxiety heading into mania. But I am feeling sad? Alone? I am tempted right now to go look up my diagnosis to see if my “type” can have both the feeling of sadness with the anxiety at the same time. My trust in myself and my sense of self is so gone that I am will go and find a website to tell me how to feel.

I don’t have good coping skills. I normally drink, smoke or go out of my house looking for something to make me feel something. Marriage made me cross the last one off the list as the “good” wife rules frowns on sex with people other than your spouse. Medication took away smoking and drinking. It was suggested I write/journal and basically go through it to sort it out. I feel they are hiding the magic wand to fix this shit. In the meantime, I am going to sit in this room and hope for the best

And I am Back

I have been dragged back here kicking and screaming because I need a healthy outlet for my feelings.

This therapy shit is hard. I want to show up, talk, have them fix me then go on my merry way. Apparently that is not how therapy is in the real world. In the real world I have been having hard conversations, facing myself and cry. Lot of crying.

Take right now for instance. I really don’t want to write what I feel at the tip of my fingertips so I fool around with this and figured out how to add pics. FOR. WHAT? I am not sharing this shit.

The answer is to hide. I have two therapists. I was just about to write a joke where I laugh before someone else can about being do fucked up that I need TWO. The reason is a simple set of words that feel impossible to say: I was sexually assaulted from a kid to adult and I need another therapist to use alternative treatments to help me deal with the trauma.

I have been unconsciously trying to find work arounds, for instance humor and distractions through small things set out like cheese in a “Distract the Therapist” mouse trap. Problem is I am not being as sneaky as I thought and they knew. Now I can’t avoid when we all know what I am doing. I am afraid.

Burning Question 2

Is this therapy shit even worth it?

I am at the therapy office often. Trying to get some fixing to my brains and feelings. I used to waste time in the beginning. And by waste time I mean going to therapy for three months and paying $70+/week so I could smile at the nice lady.

But those conversations over the three months gave us a chance to know each other. I am guarded. I don’t trust people in general or specifically to not hurt me in some way. This was a big deal. Though working on my mental is hard and I was hanging off the ledge of the abyss of probably successful suicide attempt, my fingertips were just holding me up. As long as I made it our appointment, for those 45 minutes, I could allow myself to be in the presence of someone, a stranger who had no reason to like me, who knew how close I was to killing myself and feel okay.

Believe it or not, the rest flowed after that slow start. To be clear, it has *never* been easy. It has hurt me. It has made feel like throwing up. Made me want to climb out of my skin. However, there were jokes, laughs, discussions and comfort. I have heavy shit surrounding abuse of all kinds, including sexual, and I am Bipolar therefore my therapy experience and yours may not be the same.

Today I had a rough session. It was not even the worse of what will happen in these sessions geared towards a particular traumatic event. I felt defeated because I couldn’t get through that session without feeling like a big ole wuss after. Is this shit even worth it?

What did I do when I started thinking like that:

1. I called my husband.

2. I started breathing slowly.

3. I focused on what went right.

4. I wrote this post

A year ago I would have needed to be picked up and taken home. Six months ago I wouldn’t have been able to calm and self soothe. Three months ago I would have shut down this trauma work and gone back to usual stuff. I have grown. It is still hard. I am still crying. I am still stronger. Therapy is worth it.

Friday

Random Thoughts

My boss is cool. It was rough in beginning but now I would hang out with him outside of work.

The last 2 people I hired are *EXCELLENT*. The one before these two made my soul cry…but she is gone. Lalalalalalalala!

Apparently someone liked something on here. I am going to tell myself it is spam and continue to dance/write like I want to.

Why did I start singing “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want to.

I started work 2 hours ago. Is it time for me to sign off yet?

Burning Question 1

Am I Lithium’s bitch?

Fact 1- I am experiencing nausea every. Damn. Day. Feel like a ball is in my throat. Feeling like I will vomit at anytime. This has led to weight loss…very unexpectedly. I don’t know about you but me? If I am going to risk barfing, I am having the good shit. I have lost 8lbs.

Verdict: lithium is my bitch.

Fact 2- My tastebuds have changed. My coffee life can continue but with lots and lots of cream (i am a tsp of creamer kind of woman so this is weird) to make it palatable. No espresso.

Verdict: I am lithium’s bitch.

There are a lot of side effects but I am going to continue. This is the most me I have felt in forever. I am either me x 10 with volume, anger and anxiety turned ALLLL THE WAY UP. The flip of that is being all the way down where IDGAF about life. Either puts stress on me and on my family.

Verdict: Lithium and I are bitching besties.