Explosions

anger

So much anger wrapped up inside of this body.

When I’m alone, and it’s ready to come out, it explodes.  I don’t always know how to contain it.  I don’t know where to channel it.  I’ve stopped yelling, stopped screaming at everyone around me.

I feel horrible for the years that Parker and Kidlet lived with that and I’m working through it all.  But there’s still so much anger.

Life fucked me over.  I fucked me over.  My illnesses fucked me over.  People around me fucked me over.

And I’m ANGRY.

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And now that I’m not just screaming at people and expecting everyone else to take it for me I don’t know what to do with it.  The gym or walking helps when I get myself out of the house when I start to rage.

Last night the rage took over while I was in the worst sort of mood and all I could think of was breaking things.  Breaking myself.

I was alone, things went wrong, I couldn’t find peace in my head and I couldn’t figure out where to start to make peace in the space around me so I started hitting things and then when the urge got too bad to self injure I sat down and started kicking things until I heard wood splinter.

I grabbed tattoo pens with the intention of drawing on myself and when they wouldn’t write I dug them too hard into my skin and then sobbed realizing just how bad my anger has gotten.

Today there is a broken kitchen cart and red, welted, angry skin as a reminder that anger leaves lasting wounds.

So much trauma for one person.  For years and years people have told me I’ve been through so much and I’ve brushed them all off.  “You’re so strong”  No, I just don’t have a choice.

But no,  really, I’ve been through so so much, and I’m finally allowing myself to feel a lot of what I’ve turned into stories and hidden away.  It’s so easy to tell these stories when they are just that, stories.  Words strung together.  It’s far more difficult when I’m in this program that’s helping me feel all of the feels that are underneath the words.

And I’m angry at all of the things that have been done to me.  I’m angry at the fact that no one protected me.  I’m angry that I was never able to protect myself.

I’m really fucking angry but I need to figure out how to stop taking it out on myself because I need to survive this.

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Falling Apart or Falling Together?

The last couple of days has been a special kind of hell.

The kind that doesn’t really feel like a true hell but at the same time it does.  I’m just kind of here.  I feel hypomanic, I rated my depression at a zero yesterday, but the depression crashed in hard as I realized I was way sleep deprived.

I went to PHP and left from lunch because I was too tired to stay awake, I was getting too pissy and irritable and I couldn’t even keep my eyes open.  I feel judged and at the same time I’m judging everyone, not just there but everywhere.  It’s a symptom of my mixed episodes, I’m withdrawing.  Next is the suicidal thoughts.  It happens this way every time.

I went to my free meeting with the trainer last night.  First strike was her insistence that with enough exercise and physical health I could get off psych meds.  “That’s not how this works.”

Then the fat and size shaming.  Which I retorted with, “I don’t want to be small like you.”  She didn’t like that, she doesn’t consider herself small, and really didn’t like it when I called her tiny.  Fuck her.

Later she said “I thought you said you were a widow, you’re dating?”

You know what . . . fuck you.

It could be because I’m oversensitive and feeling judged anyway, but holy shit, don’t do that.  I deserve happiness and I’m so glad I have Wonder Woman.  I can be a widow and in love again.

Being over sensitive like this sucks so so badly because I feel like everything and everyone is trying to attack me and I respond in kind.  It makes life harder than it has to be but it’s not like I can stop just because I know it’s happening.  It takes time to get back out of this mood and in the mean time I want to isolate which is the worst thing I can do for myself.

I went to bed early and managed to sleep for 10 hours.  I woke up feeling drugged because of the amount of sleep but it was so so needed.  Two – four hours of sleep night after night isn’t enough especially with super full and emotional days.

Today I just want to crawl into bed and sleep more, but instead I got up, fed the animals, and soon I’ll get dressed and head to therapy before a full day of PHP, maybe breakfast with my girl beforehand.  Tonight I’ll either NSO or at least sit there and spend time with my derby people who I miss being around.

I’m tired of this fight.  I’m so so tired of the fucking roller coaster.  Sometimes I just want to demolish the whole fucking amusement park and let someone else clean up the mess.

But Parker already did that to me, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to do that to someone else.

Panic

Really real mental health post . . .

This was supposed to stop once the death date passed. I’m doing all of the right things, I’m going to PHP, I’m doing the work, I’m even going to the gym. I’m staying active, I’m staying busy, why is there a fucking elephant on my chest.

Why am I so fucking angry.

Why do I feel like I can’t fucking breathe.

Why can’t I fucking breathe.

I don’t know what’s worse, having a panic attack and not knowing, or having one, knowing, and still not being able to stop it.

Laying in bed and feeling my chest tighten, not wanting to fight against myself to breathe, knowing thats just going to make it worse, and at the same time feeling the need to fight.

It looks so peaceful on the outside but on the inside my brain is screaming. How many years did it take me to learn to stay calm through that?

The good news is, I’m learning to fight against my own instincts to fight. And by that I mean fighting in general. I’m not fighting myself, I’m not fighting the people around me, and I’m not fighting to breathe when my body panics. The bad thing is, my body is responding by making me panic.

More work to be done, more groups, more tears, more long days and exhausting nights, many many more panic attacks I’m sure.

This fucking sucks, but it’s still better than the alternative.

Making The Call

Sometimes being a self saving warrior princess means making the call to get help, even if it feels like failure.

I made that call this morning, and this afternoon I started at a mental health partial hospitalization program. While the mundane world is working I’ll be in many different group therapies and medication management and coming home at night to cuddle my girl and all of the four legged things.

I am back to going from fine and productive to lethargic to angry to suicidal to so anxious I can’t breathe at a moments notice, often it’s a combination of all of them.

I hate this.

But at least I’m alive to hate it and right now that’s what’s most important. I’m sure at some point I will fully realize that this is okay but right now being back in this program feels horrible and I want to fight it but I know I can’t.

The only way I see to fight it is to end it and that isn’t an option either.

I need to be healthy again.

Not only is this caused in part by trauma, but the whole situation feels triggering and traumatizing.

This is so much harder now.

I. Hate. This.

I want my badass self back.

Tension

Really real widow post:

The memory posts are getting closer and closer to the two year mark but I’ve felt it in my chest for weeks. My anxiety is making me nauseas and as much as I know I need to live and thrive and not revert to survival mode it’s taking everything in me just to put one foot in front of the other.

I feel like I’m functioning within this constant whirlwind. I’m making the motions, I’m doing the things but my head is screaming to get out. Run. Every noise is danger. Every sudden movement is something I need to react to. I’m on edge. I want to puke. My brain is so so loud. I’m afraid of messing it all up.

Everything feels like tension and tension is palpable even where it has nothing to do with me. But tension is triggering as fuck for me.

(Trigger warning: Talk about Parker’s actual death here (but not suicide really)…. more than some will be comfortable hearing but not actually graphic, just the kind of shit our society doesn’t talk about)
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Parker and I fought before she died. The kind of verbal fight that had us going to our own corners to chill out. Except, the only “real” conversation after that was a text she sent me saying “I love you, I’m sorry”

Later when I went to bed and she was already sleeping I remembered thinking “she must be okay, she must understand, the tension is gone.” But typically it never mattered if she was sleeping. If we were fighting the tension stayed until we talked it out.

The next morning when I went to wake her I realized she was dead.

Ghost wives are no longer angry and so there wasn’t tension.

Tension is hugely triggering and while it’s always been a problem for me, I hate seeing people around me upset. Now, that tension in the air, that fight or flight response….

Right now I shut down. I’m on edge and I don’t know how to respond. Stores make me feel agoraphobic again, I want to lock myself in the house and not leave.

I am feeling everybody’s everything’s.

What if it’s my fault. What will the outcome be.

When will the next feeling of tension cause the next snowball of events like that time did?

My body is waiting for that need to react.

And meanwhile I’m sitting in a car, typing this, posting it, so I can put on a totally okay face and NSO another derby event because while all of this is happening and I’m trying so so hard not to lean too much on anyone, especially those closest to me because that’s how people die, that’s how I push them away, that’s how I become too much….

I keep putting one foot in front of the other and trying to live and thrive and not just survive because I have seen the alternative.

Tension fucking sucks.

Widowing Ain’t Easy.

(No time to edit, pardon typos please)

Anger

Remember how Sesame Street used to have a letter of the day?

Apparently I have an emotion of the week.

This weeks emotion is: Anger!

I’m ducking overwhelmed and it’s showing up as anger (and duck you iPhone I never Never NEVER mean DUCK)

The fucked up part is I’m controlling it enough that it’s probably not meds. It’s probably not anything that someone can fix.

Right now I’m angry about things in the house or people on the street or my ankle hurting but I know on a larger scale I’m angry because I’m just overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed with the past and all of the processing that I’m working through again and again and again.

And at the same time there’s a house full of shit that needs to be done and I’m trying to figure out how to keep the cat from eating the dogs food and how to make the cat eat since I moved her food now that the dog has decided she will eat cat food and all of it just makes me so so angry.

Angry is the emotion of the week.

Last night I walked it out for an hour or so. Today I will find another way to deal with it. Meanwhile I’ll just keep hoping it doesn’t turn into suicidal shit again.

This mental health crap isn’t for the weak.

Turbulent

Trigger Warning: Suicidal Shit. Mental Health Crap. “Hey Tina . . Don’t Die” Stuff.

My brain is so so so loud.

Angry angry thoughts. Directed outward and directed inward and It’s all based on being so overwhelmed with the number of changes even though I want it all.

My brain is still retreating to old habits, old coping mechanisms that are supremely unhelpful. I once heard a quote “it’s comfortable in a warm pile of shit” Even if a situation sucks it’s often far easier than actually changing it because change is incredibly turbulent.

Right now I’ve hit a very turbulent period of growth and change and my brain is pissed. I want ALL of the things that are ahead. I want this growth. I want to continue to become the amazing person I’m meant to be. I want to finally be myself instead of living in the shell of me.

But right now the turbulence is trying to tear me apart and I’m trying not to lash outward or take it out on myself.

The frequency of my suicidal ideations just keeps increasing. I’m back to having safety plans that include other people to keep me safe from myself. I’m basically fighting to get myself out of the house every day when really I just want to curl up in a ball and stop existing.

My therapist and I are exploring a number of different options including increasing therapy and I may end up back in some sort of out patient intensive program.

Yep, this fucking sucks, but, staying alive is kind of important because I do want whats next.

Sometimes this means gut wrenching sobs late at night, that end in laughter when I realize I woke Wonder Woman up, and that, no she doesn’t mind, but it’s still weird and embarrassing to have someone right there holding me. I hate that I’m going through this again.

I hate the images I’m seeing, flashes of death and dying and not being sure if I want to run from it or to it and hating that I even question the decision. I know what it feels like to be left behind, I hate that in the moment, I don’t even have the mental energy to consider those that would be. All I can think of is stopping the pain I’m in. It’s not a rational thing, but the guilt when I come out of it . . .holy fuck, I can’t even describe what the guilt on top of every thing else is like.

“If she was his real mom, she wouldn’t have done that” Right . . . . then how am I even considering it?

I found Parker . . and at some point after the ideations get bad, I always go to “Holy fuck . . . how would I put someone through that.” and that’s on top of visualizing myself there first.

It’s not just being suicidal, it’s not just wanting to die . . . it’s then beating myself up for all of it, and going round and round and round. And feeling like if I don’t pick the right form of treatment moving forward, this is how it’s going to play out, and I will end up dead and someone will find me and they will live this and it will all repeat.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not the only one that goes through this and maybe if someone else knows that they aren’t alone, they will keep fighting too. Maybe they will know they are a little less crazy than they think they are.

For that matter, maybe someone will remind me that I’m not alone, and that I’m not as crazy as I think I am . . . because even though I logically understand why all this is happening, and I’m supposed to know I will pull out of it, again. . . .

Sometimes it’s nice to hear that I’m not the only one. I know I have so so many people out there, but my brain is so so loud.

And right now that warm pile of shit would be comfortable to crawl back into.