Trauma

Explosions

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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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Smile through it…

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One of the things that hits me over and over again as my memories come up, is not just how often we had shitty things happen, but how often Kidlet is smiling in the pictures I took of him . . smiling in the face of really shitty stuff.

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That really became apparent after the accident. He wanted pictures of everything, from the wounds to the Xrays, to the various casts, he had a plan at the time (and it needed to be documented for insurance anyway), but it meant lots of opportunities to have the camera out. We have so many pictures of him in various stages of healing, throwing a grin for the camera.

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And the truth was, he was laughing and happy through most of it. There were shitty moments but we found ways to be happy.

I talk about resilience and grit and how I have a sense of humor in the face of all this. I talk about finding the joy and laughing when I want to cry.

Sometimes I wonder which one of us started that, did I learn it from Kidlet, or did he learn it from me?

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I know he went through a lot and I know these smiles weren’t just for the camera. I remember the first time after each major thing where I’d hear his first real belly laugh. Mostly it was with his online group of friends through the computer or the Xbox, and I’d finally release the breath I’d been holding. By the way, these are the same friends he still has, some of them have been commenting on my posts and holding me up now.

But the smiles typically came within moments or hours. Even while he was still laying on the ground after the accident he smiled and cracked jokes. Even in the trauma room he was making jokes through the morphine . . .okay, that was drug induced probably. In the days after, figuring out how to get him into the house and how we were going to make it work, he was joking about how crazy our luck was. And smiling.

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We fell apart, we screamed, we raged, we cried, but we came back together and smiled.

We found the joy in all of it.

Turbulent

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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.

I Stayed

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Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts and plan.

Really real, really long. Mental health post.

This morning I woke up with a cloud hanging over me.

The kind of morning where I lay in bed wondering if it’s even safe to let my feet hit the ground. My feet on the ground mean I can walk to any of a thousand deadly things.

And then the same tapes start replaying. It’s not even that I want to die, I’m just tired of fighting this same fight. Im not becoming self sufficient fast enough and today is a ‘work day’ and as much as I love my job, waking up with this cloud means I not only have to make it through work, I have to fight the busses to get to work, which means I have to make the mile walk to the bus stop, which means I have to be ready to leave my house in plenty of time …. and this morning that means I have to fight through this cloud to make any of that happen. Ad really, it would be much more peaceful to just stop fighting this fight.

Can I even put my feet on the floor and make it through the next hour alive. Or do I just call out and give up and hope the thoughts are gone when I wake back up.

I get up I feed the dog and take her out. I don’t even bother trying to eat, but I take my morning meds.

The whole time I’m fighting the thoughts about where every bottle of pills in my house is. I know which ones will do what. There are safety plans and…. the fact is I can’t suicide proof the world and those spaces in my brain are dark as fuck.

I end up in the bathroom and my brain is still spinning. I can’t see a single reason to keep fighting but I’m trying to keep holding on. I’m trying to stay. I know I can’t give up.

The thing is, I also know that if there’s just the smallest break in the fog I’ll be okay again. I know that the hospital is pointless because this isn’t a medication problem or something that needs fixing or a 72 hour hold. It’s just my brain being a dumb brain and sometimes it gets really fucking dark.

But in that moment, I also couldn’t see my way out. The same pills and meds that keep me functioning become dangerous. It doesn’t help that the same pills that kept my late wife alive were her weapon against herself. It just makes it easier for me to see that as a solution to this pain. Even if it isn’t something I’d want to choose.

And then my phone dings. “This shirt made me think of you”

Seriously tell people when you are thinking of them. You never know when you are the spot of light they need.

It took me a bunch of texting back and forth on the crisis line, while crying on the bus, to make it to work. (By the way, they are fantastic text HOME to 741-741). I’m thankful that I could email my boss and tell her that it was a grief/mental health/dumb brain day and that she got it, didn’t push, made sure I had work to stay busy and checked on me.

But I made it. I’m going to need more support than other people. And it’s going to take me longer than I think it should to be at a paid job working at the level that I feel I should be capable.

But this morning I didn’t think I could get out of bed, and I still made it to work, without having to get anyone to drive me, or calling out, or giving up.
I also didn’t panic.

And I held on and I stayed.