When I am a therapist, I will: Self Care edition

1. Get waxed regularly. I’m a masochist and hate shaving, so two birds, one stone. That, or laser hair removal.

2. Hair: It would be nice to actually have my hair done regularly. Right now, I go about once a year or 18 months and that’s just for a cut, no color.

3. Books: Being able to afford more books on trauma would be cool too.

4. Clothes that fit. Being small, but curvy, nothing fits. Having quality clothes hemmed and fitted would be fantastic. Having a capsule wardrobe of comfortable, quality peices has always been a dream of mine. I hate the collection of cheap clothes that I have.

5. Vacation: Taking a vacation every year would be incredible. Right now it takes us about every five years to take even a short cruise.

6. Therapy- I would keep a therapist. I have an appt to start back on the 26th, so hopefully that continues. She specifically treats trauma. We will see how that goes.

7. Nails: I wouldn’t want fake nails, but having my natural nails done every other week or so could be nice.

8. Massages? Not sure about this one. I don’t know if I could stand to be nude for a massuse, much less let one touch me. Something to work on? I don’t know.

9. Car maintenance- I don’t want fancy new cars. I just want to be able to maintain the ones I have.

10. Yard People: Having people to cut the grass would be such a nice thing. It would be such a load off my husband.

Breonna

I am sick

sick as I think of a beautiful life unlived

sick as I remember the careful words defending a killer

sick as I think of the family living without justice.

we must do better

For Breonna

for her family

for every black person

for our children.

Careful words are not enough

Justice must be rewritten

until the tears stop falling

as the bodies fall.

Summer of George Floyd

Fall of Breonna Taylor

Who will die for winter?

Today is the 17th

His birthday. I didn’t even remember it was his birthday, I just knew I felt panicky all day. I’ve been going “oh god oh god oh god please please please ‘ in my head all day and I couldn’t figure out why. And then I looked at the date to write a check and figured it out. Its what I did every time it was his birthday, because his birthdays sucked. I would walk on a knifes edge waiting for whatever he had planned. It was terror. They apparently sucked so bad I cant remember a single one. Not a birthday party or anything. Not whatever he did to me either, specifically, just an overarching sense of terror.

It starting to hit me how little I actually remember about him. How much I am able to remember about my life back then.

I have been so tired today and now I realize it because my body is trying to dissociate from the day by forcing me into sleep. Also explains why I haven’t had an appetite, and why I felt like budgeting, because controlling our income is what I do when I get stressed.

No news on Granny. I guess I will find out when she has Covid.

So tired of this fucking pandemic.

My husband has been much much better these days. I don’t know what happened, if he read this blog or not, but he’s been spending a lot more time with us and helping around the house more. Huh. We will see how long it lasts. I’m happy about the improvement, but afraid to address it in case it stops.

I need a nap.

Trying to be positive

My grandmothers nursing home has a covid outbreak.

I am behind on assingments.

My supervisor hasn’t filled out all the forms she needs to for my internship. They are due tomorrow.

I cant get anyone on the phone to get an extension.

We are broke and I just keep having to put shit on my credit card.

I am feeling the pain of just overwhelming stress.

I gotta get through this week. No joke. And then next week. And whatever happens to my grandmother.

FUCK THIS WEEK.

Second birthday

It’s our sons second birthday party today. I’m trying to set up. I can’t do it by myself.

Where is my husband, you ask?

In his office, playing DnD. Party is at 3. Before that he has to go to our cousins and pick up a couch and loveseat.

Because that’s more important than helping set up for his sons birthday party.

I’m going to start DoorDashing. It will pay off my car, my credit card and getting my teeth fixed, and I will damn well be getting a divorce. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of doing everything on my own. I will wait until I graduate, and get a decent job. I will save up and get ready to get my own place or possibly take the house. I am going to ask him for about 1k in child support to pay for Williams daycare and Logan’s after school, as well as covering their health insurance. I’m done. I have no idea if Mama Nell will come with me or not. But it doesn’t matter. I will manage.

The Five W’s

You remember back in grade school, when writing a story they would tell you to answer the five w’s? Who, what, where, when and why? I’m giving it a shot to try and straighten out my own head.

********______________________*******

Who: 3 of my brothers, a guy on the school bus, Derek, and my uncle.

What: Repeated sexual abuse.

Where: Everywhere. All over the house. His house. The school bus. My grandmothers room while she slept next to me. His room. My room.

When: From birth when I lived with my family, kindergarten on the bus with Derek, then everyday until I was 15 and my brother moved out, and then at 18 when my uncle groomed me.

Why: Probably sexual abuse with all of my brothers. Pretty certain at this point they were sold to my father for drugs for my mother. Who also sold herself to him and then had me. Brothers were caught touching me when I was a year old, and they would have been 6 and 7 or 8. I don’t remember this episode. Derek was probably sexually abused as a child also, with Derek only being a little older than me. My other brother was a freaking sadist. Likely also abused, but he had counseling. He didn’t have to take it out on me. My uncle was a deluded asshole who thought he was trying to fix me and my issues from all the others.

**********_______________________________********

I don’t know why I thought of doing this little exercise. I just have always been very analytical, and thought working with the 5 W’s might help straighten things out in my head when they run together. I guess the sheer fact of it is, I was sexually abused through my entire childhood, and it was a result of my fathers pedophilia.

This is random, but I was doing some more research on enneagram types, and it occurred to me after I did the Enneagram personality test, and found out I was a 5, w6. or Five, wing 6. It makes me wonder how many people with trauma are a type 5 and 6.

The following is directly taken from the Ennegram website and is the brief description of the type.

TYPE 5: Fives are alert, insightful, and curious. They are able to concentrate and focus on developing complex ideas and skills. Independent, innovative, and inventive, they can also become preoccupied with their thoughts and imaginary constructs. They become detached, yet high-strung and intense. They typically have problems with eccentricity, nihilism, and isolation. At their Best: visionary pioneers, often ahead of their time, and able to see the world in an entirely new way.

  • Basic Fear: Being useless, helpless, or incapable
  • Basic Desire: To be capable and competent
  • Enneagram Five with a Four-Wing: “The Iconoclast”
  • Enneagram Five with a Six-Wing: “The Problem Solver”

Key Motivations: Want to possess knowledge, to understand the environment, to have everything figured out as a way of defending the self from threats from the environment.

This describes me to a T. However, I created this personality. This personality came from my need to be in control of my self and my environs, and having the ability to be safe by knowing how to respond in a crisis.

How much of this is real? How do I undo my training? I repeated my Mantra until I could feel nothing, and now I can’t feel the things I want to.

Now the question is, how do I save myself?

Thanks for the tears

Sometimes I have to lose myself in music. When I need to be ripped apart, to have my soul sundered, I listen to the beauty of Lindsey Sterling and Pentatonix, and allow fantasy to allow me to escape to realm where I can finally cry.

It is only in fantasy where I am no longer me, where I can be another person with the ability to feel.

The easiest way to be that person is through music that makes me dream.

In the words of Dumbledore: Ah, music, a magic far beyond what we do here”.

Thank you.

I don’t care…

He spent our tenth anniversary playing video games. He came to bed at 2:30 in the morning. We had sushi yesterday. A quick meal, and then off he went for DnD. No gifts exchanged. It’s my fault. I’ve always been so understanding, sure baby, somewhat you want, but I never thought I would have to ask him to spend time with me.

And I realized, it’s because I don’t care anymore. Let him play his games instead of playing with his kids. Let him ignore me until I’m so sick and tired of it, I find someone else.

My grandfather died five years ago today. I can’t imagine what he would think if I got a divorce now.

I’m tired. I can’t leave, as not only do I have no where to go, I don’t have the funds. I can’t afford this house on my own. I would have to move, and I don’t know if I can do that. It’s impossible to think about moving out and getting divorced in a pandemic.

Seething

I dont know what to say, except that I have this seething mass inside and I might as well put it down on this page. This is the era of ineffectual arguments falling on logic deaf ears. Corona virus to human rights and sex trafficking, I can not believe the sights my eyes see every day on the news. Another three thousand dead? Who cares? Another young boy hung? Who cares ?Another police shooting? Who cares? Another murder? Who cares? Another suicide? Who cares? Another another another.

Does it end? Will it end? or is this seething mass of anger and grief and fear here to stay in the bowels of every American?

What do we have to do to turn this around? Where is the line where we stand up and scream ENOUGH! How many more have to die, before the right ones do? How many people have to become homeless, starving, and broken before the endlessly grasping hand of American life? The life that’s the “greatest” that sucks every morsel of soul and compassion you have for the righteous fury of narcissistic RIGHTS that supersede the rights of your fellow human to breathe and eat.

Were a third world country masquerading as a first, and our mask is being ripped off. America is just the worlds prettiest ghetto with a beautiful veneer that lies to all who see it.

American voting for the best liar out of a pool of people who can’t even begin to understand the lives of the people that they represent.

With a quickness…

What surprises me with all of this is sometimes how bipolar I feel. Except it isn’t true bipolar. I can go from a “normal” to near suicidal in moments. That’s what scares me the most, I think. Do I really want to die? No, but I damn well want this misery to stop. But everyone who hears about self harm thinks it is because I am suicidal. No, it just helps clear my mind for a few moments, like the sting of the burn is so sudden and sharp that it clears the fog and misery for a few precious minutes. and later, afterward, its like a weight has lifted, that that pain has washed away. I’m usually in a better mood after burning myself.

I ended up texting the Crisis text line yesterday. I wasn’t suicidal, I just needed a stranger to talk to. The strange thing is, I have gone through the training to be a text line worker, and I knew nearly everything she would say before she said it. Classic responses. “You are brave for telling me this.” “No, I’m not, I’m freaking desperate. “You are doing a great ob of communicating your feelings” Yes, but that’s because you are god only knows where, and god only knows who. I couldn’t begin to be as open with anyone who actually knows me.

Which, I guess that’s the entire problem. I cant be open with the person who is supposed to be the closest to me, and that hurts on a level I cant describe. Its like being an island of pain, with no bridge to relief. I KNOW he would listen, but the shame is so great that I can’t get the words out. I think I am also afraid of the change that mentioning it would bring.

I am afraid of my life becoming about THAT. Because last time it did. and that led to my uncle grooming me as he looked for a way to fix me.

If anyone fixes me, its going to be me. My choice, on my timeline.

Of course, that means I am the only one holding me back, as well.