Saturday, February 02, 2008

Thanks for nothing

i really don't know what will become of me. The anxiety is so so bad that i was so close to D. taking me to the medical hospital. i coulnd't walk, the room was shaking, I wanted to jump out of my skin. And no matter what I did I coudln't get better. Today, no matter how many tranqs. I took I was still seeing double.

I can feel the buildup because I've been crying during these attacks. and please, someone, realize how far gone i am. i can't do this anymore. and things go though my mind and my last skydive is prepared for. it's easy to do. i just have to do it. and there has to be another way. this is more than my everyday general misery. this is the height of it. and i don't know how to stop it. the shrink finally called back and I'm starting to get to know her style. no wonder randy recommends her...they are both scattered and don't listen.

i'm having hot and cold flashes and i haven't felt this bad since last summer. enough said.

Julie likes Ryan Gosling, but we will not discuss Julie tonight. We are too far gone. This will be a short...even final blog. I'm concerned about my classes. I cannot do the work as long as the anxiety is like this. out of all the work i have to do, i've done none it. didn't even work out at the gym and that is clear indication that we don't feel well. i've been in bed today except to drive out to the tattoo parlor to get my cartlidge pierced. most people would say ouch, but when I was living with D. and B. I pierced my cartlidge myself. It hurt like hell, but I got off on it. I may have a millionm piercing by the time all this is through. i don't give a fuck. i may pierce that other piece of ear before...lost the thought.

i want to move to Charleston so bad i can take it. the only thing is that i can start a Masters program if I stay right where I am and not teach. it's a delimna because I love to write and i would love to get a Masters in writing, not that I would ever publishing anything. my currrent professor loves my work although i don't know how much he'll like the next piece.

i wish i was a teenager in the fourties. i wouldn't have to deal with all the shit i deal with now. life is so complicated and so unforgiving. it is so painful and there are no answers. i need simplicity and love and tradition. my life is devoid of that. i hate my life. i can't breathe. this anxiety will kill me before i can kill the anxiety,so to speak. one has to give. the hot and cold flashes i can't bear, and i can't bear the visual ticks, the visual disturbances, the way the room rocks back and forth.

i had a memory earlier i wanted to share. i remember it now. it wasn't anything big. it was based on music. I miss the Music Maiden. Once I get the music back I'll remember. I believe it was a trip I took to Florida by other families who could read the unhappiness etched on my face. I had a psuedo friend. My former best friend, I'll call her D.C., has been written off my list. The last time we talked, I confided in her some of the trouble I was having. I only just now heard from her. She left a message on my VM. I'm hurt by that and at least ought to give her the benefit of the doubt, although part of me believes I ought to see how interested in our well-being she is by when and if she calls again.

all i can do is ask for help, and when i'm denied, no one can blame me.

she's so dark and black, but she speaks for the rest of us. the one thing we wish to fantacize about is the one thing for which we can't speak. and we wonder, if we live, what happens to our classes? they're gone. We get a "W". I dont' care if the circumstances are "understandable." But then you don't worry when you skydive. you just enjoy the freedom that type of life gives you. skydiving is another way to escape, but the final way. and when you shore yourself up with the necessary equipment, no one can take the feedom away from. D. doesn't know I want to skydive, so I've hidden all my equipment. He was remarking in the car today about how he feels he failed us, hasn't taken good of us. He bought the littles the graham cracker bees from Honey Maid but it pisses the bigs off because some of us have weight to lose and we can't be tempted with that shit.

He doesn't know how to buy a gift for his life. just do a god damn gift certificate. i don't want lingerie, i don't want food. i don't want what you think i want. so cut some slack. what a waste not to make it to the half year. what a waste anyway. the waste is what types. somewhere deep inside i know he loves us. but what different does it make. i've argued with Randy over and over that people shouldn't live for other people. why i would make D. happy is irrelevant, why I be a good teacher and have a positive impact on my students doesn't translate into a reason to live. but something hasn't. there has to be a reason to live and unless we find one soon...

i was watching "The Notebook" and the beginning of the love scenes. I would be able to tell from a million miles away what Noah was after and if I were Allie I would have run a million miles. If caught and trapped, I don't know if I could have pretended like I enjoyed it as much as she did.

How do people stand it when someone else's hands are on them, only to gratify themselves, not the person whose body they are groping. How can people be naked beside each other. I just dont' understand it. the more questions I don't understand, the more of life I miss it, the more I realize I different I am, the more skydiving throught the beautiful cloudless sky seems real and probable.

i hate life!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


You forgot to mention Julie in the last blog. She was with us and Randy. Don't forget to write about her next.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Friday, February 01, 2008

You're once, twice, three times a bitch

i feel sad. this is typical of therapists and anyone in the mental health field. I called my shrink yesterday because I was feeling horrible. I'm taking my meds as prescribed but the last four or five days I've dealt with the worst anxiety and panic attacks, especially on T/TR when we have our writing class. I left a message, knowing I wouldn't hear till later in the afternoon or evening. I left a message saying I was having trouble functioning, the anxiety was extreme, shakes, twitches, restlessness, jumping out of my skin, etc... We all know what anxiety is. She doesn't call till this morning, I can't get to the phone, and leaves a message to try out the same antipsychotic she has been trying to push on me since day one. I called her back later this afternoon, crying and shaking the anxiety was so bad. I researched for the millionth time this medication that can cause weight gain and I WILL NOT WILL NOT WILL NOT take it. Her arguement is if someone has an eating disorder it they generally dont' respond to the cues the med gives them to eat. So fucking what. No way, no how we are putting anything in this body that will even remotely or possibly cause us in any chance to gain weight. The answer I left her was no. Through the tears I asked if she would be willing to use something to augment the tranqs I take 2x a day; the other doctor did and I had no problem with abusing them. Has the Bitch called me back. NO NO NO NO. I feel like crap. My mind is tripping out, I can't focus, I'm stumbling into walls. I left work early because I couldn't perform. But she's too busy to call, and I'm mad because I'm suffering and I need help. I already had major doubts about the mental health system; I know they aren't perfect, but if on your VM you say you will call before the end of the day, CALL!!!!!!

I just feel like cutting. I threw up earlier. I won't be gross but it made my body physically sick. I hate throwing up because at this point there isn't enough energy or focus to last through the work out. I've decided it would be pretty to cut a circle around my forearm, like a tattoo. Cirlces are for infinity and for me to cut a circle would signify that we will never stop and that are torment and pain is never ending.

Damn, I sound hacked and depressing. I'm depressing myself.

D. and I are fighting again. He doesn't understand me and he will tell me that. I can't f*ing help it. He says one thing, I say another, and then I can't remember the conversation but the feelings of anger are still there and he gets pissed because I'm pissed but don't know why I'm pissed. I can tell I'm anxious by the way I'm typing. I'm not taking a break in my sentences.

I got one assignment done today. Hooray for us! One down, six to do. I ought to be working on them but I would rather document for anyone with D.I.D. what NOT to do if you want to get better.

The difference between you and us is that you want to get better. We just want to be special, loved, and cared about. I just realized what a pipe dream that is. If the own husband can't love us, despite the crazy times and when we don't know what we're doing, how will anyone else love us?

That is a sobering and depressing thought. That's something not too pleasant to think about. Sheila on this line.

We need help. We need someone to help us want help. We don't want help. We'll never get better if we don't want it. so sad. What's left then?

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Someone like me.

today has not been good at all. and now, when i sit down to write about it and the feeling accompanying it, it vanishes. It's Thursday, so there was work then school. I'm done.

The anxiety of the day has killed me. I was not myself this morning. I was someone who was walking into things, i.e. D., walls, dogs, etc.... I was having visual disturbances where the room would shake back and forth. I was hearing conversations. I was shaking. D. had to drive me to work/school because it would have been dangerous to be behind the wheel of a car. I can't think of a reason off the top of my mind why I would be so dangerous and at this extremeness. I had to take a tranq just to get ready. Walking the halls of school dictated I take another. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stay, but T/TR is my most important class so I couldn't skip out on it. Throughout the day I would take a tranq. I've taken five so far. It managed my symptoms well by the time I had taken the third one. I can not manage this. I called the shrink but she never returned my call. Just when she was getting on my good side. My mind automatically goes to "what did I do wrong?"

I have extensions placed on me in almost all my classes because I cannot complete the work. It's a mess; I'm a mess. One other thing is for sure, I can do this. I just can't. I don't need ultimatums or threats thrown at me. I need compassion and support. I'm about to lose it in the biggest way possible. Today has been horrendous. There's no more to hurt me with.

Our next writing assignment, by the way, everyone loved me previous writing piece, dumb bastards, the next piece is called "Where I am from." Well, you know I'm loving this. I went up to my professor when it was over and spoke with him privately. He knows I have "issues," he just doesn't know what they are. But the class was talking about memories. I don't have memories. I don't know where I'm from. He said, "Rebecca," (didn't correct him for calling me the wrong f'ing name) that is a great line opener. It has to be in the form of a poem and we have to interpret the line "I came from" any way we want. It could be about driving to school in our car, our birth (not mine, the students) or any other lame crap like this. More stress, more anxiety. Then he told me, and for some reason I believe he meant it because he's a Jew (inside joke, sorry to offend). In all seriuosness, I believed him when he said he was so glad I was in the class and that it wouldn't be the same without me in there.

I read aloud in our feather circle the easiest piece I could. I've been toying with the idea of posting them on here, but the chances someone could type them in and find me here are too great. If my cover is blown, I will never be a teacher, which really doesn't matter because I've been thinking of going in a different direction. Because I work for the university, I can have my tuition paid free. I don't know if it covers Masters work. But once I'm done with my undergrad, I've been thinking of staying on in the department in which I work and going for my Masters in Creative Writing. Not that I want to write a book, I just want to write. I love to write. I've been told I'm a good writer. So I'm thinking about that option. If I were to choose that, it wouldn't matter if my writings got posted to my blog.

But what I read in the feather circle was a required 3rd person piece. It was about a woman walking down the aisle, rather tripping and stumbling down the aisle, cursing her high heels and reflecting on why she hates wearing dresses. Then it cuts to the woman wondering about the man beside her and if he'll be happy with the life-long decisions he's made. Then the woman's trance is broken as she is up on stage shaking the President's sweaty hand and getting her AA degree. Everyone loved the twist. It seemed about marriage but it was really about the graduation ceremony.

Professor L. told me to make my work fiction. I don't like fiction. He says to write from the heart. That feels like lies to me. Which brings me to this blog. I feel very sensored as to what I say in this blog and highly inclined to go back over what has been written. I feel we are in a volatile space where, even though we can take care of ourselves, things we say might be misconstrued and we will be in the same place as we were back last Spring: threats thrown at us, accusations we were painting him into a corner. So, technically, we feel painted into a corner because we can't write freely without worrying about the consequences. There are things we could write and want to write. We feel on a small level like our blog helps people and least feel they aren't going through this alone. That's the worse part of D.I.D.: you feel so alone. It's not like they have AA-like meetings for us. But I can't say what I want and, damn't, I'm pissed. Part of me wants to and damn the consequences. I don't respond well to threats and there will be a fight to be had if one is thrown at us.

The razor and band-aids are in my purse. The tranqs were helpful today because I didn't feel the need to use them, but I am really obsessing about it. I decided not to write my third word photo about my cutting in the past because, even though I wanted to know their reactions and that is why I would read it aloud, I can't control their reactions or emotions or opinions of me. In a few months when the tank tops are worn, they will see for themselves the cutting. If they judge me, that is on them and they should be ashamed. They really should be grateful I'm putting myself on the line and revealing some of this crap. This is probably the last piece I'll write about the history as told to us. The rest IS too personal. but they will have students that cut or have cut or are into drugs. At least now they have a first person insider's view as to what the thoughs and feelings are going through the mind that would cause someone to starve, throw up, cut, or get multiple piercings.

Speaking of piercings, going to get one tomorrow after working out. Can't wait.

My scale is faulty and I'm pissed. I don't believe it's giving me a true representation of my current weight, and for that, I could bang it against the steps.

The professor I am to edit a book with is having too many health problems. I haven't seen her in weeks. I may resign. What good is it? I don't want the title without doing the work.

My dog wants to play. You'd love her. She is three and plays, plays, plays. Her expressions are so cute; it is as if she can solely communicate through her eyes. She has a thousand different looks.

I saw the girls that I used to be guardians of dance ballet tonight and they were fantastic. Even O, the one with the learning disorder, kept up and was a leader for the other girls falling behind. They are a pretty hard core dance company and don't do it for the recital. The teach ballet, the recital is short, sweet, and a reward. I like that.

Work is calming down. The phones that used to ring off the hook and send me to oblivion have calmed down and the people are much nicer. One thing I've noticed, the teachers who call and are going for their Masters are much nicer than those in the MBA program or even the regular undergrads. If you have teachers, thank them. They are truly a different breed.

I have a friend at school now, K., that pretends to want me as a friend. She gave me a ride today to my girls' ballet class because I had no car. Couldn't drive this morning. True, I have lots of people I'm 'friendly' with at school, even exchanged phone numbers; however, I'm not used to 'friendly' people at school being friends with me. And though a car ride doesn't a friendship develop or constitute to the real deal, she is in my writing peer group and already knows extra things about me, along with another girl, C., that most people will never know. They know about anxiety and that I take meds, but nothing bigger. I was grateful for the ride and I think next weekend we may go out for a drink since she turns 21 next week and I need to get drunk myself. Although the calories will trip me up. An apple martini will be fine. But it's nice to have someone ask you if you want to go out with them and they really mean it. We asked C., our peer partner and got a maybe which is student speak for "no." No worries. Someone else will go. I'll be too afraid to go by myself. I'll feel the spotlight is on me and either she'll ask too many personal questions or I'll have to carry the conversation and ask her questions. It's almost like a date, but K. and I've had four classes together before. This writing class has taken our 'friendship' to a whole new level. I hope our insanity doesn't drive her off. I wouldn't want to be friends with someone like me.

Please let me sleep tonight. Please, please, please, let me sleep and not worry with the anxiety. Maybe I will sleep. Though I don't have school, I do work and I like to work on Fridays. The school is pretty much closed and the phone calls are few. I get alot of work done.

ease let me sleep. I feel it already. I'm drowsy. But I'll bet you anything; as soon as the lights go off and I lay my head on the pillow, I'll pop right up like a jack-in-the-box. Drowsly and sleepy doesn't equal sleep. My mind will turn on as soon as I shut everything down. We'll see. I have an appt. with Randy tomorrow. I may just have to sleep on his couch. BYOB. Bring your own blanket.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Still Missing

I'm tired. It's been a long day and I could really use a friend. I thought about rushing a sorority but changed my mind. That pressure is the last I need. Besides and more seriously, who would want me as a member. Remember the comment by Grouch Marx: He didn't care to be part of a club that would have him as a member.

I feel very unhappy. The anxiety is better. I need to tell my shrink why. I left her message that I was stopping a medication but I altered another one and I need to tell her. It seems to be working.

I finished writing my three word photos. One is about cutting since we seem to be caught up in that right now, we wrote about the dog we had to put down, and we wrote about what looks like a marriage piece but the twist on the end is that we are actually walking down the aisle to get our degree. my peer-reviewers loved it. We only had time to share one piece, even though we wrote three. That leaves me with a dilemna: which piece to I read? Do I go for the shock of what I wrote of how sickening it is it love to cut yourself, do I read about the pain of losing an animal (I love you Hummer), or do I read the piece of getting my degree even though the piece is set up like a marriage ceremony. There's humor in that piece so most of me wants to share that, but then again I want to see the reaction on their face about the cutting. I don't want to submit that type of piece and then wonder all weekend what these people are thinking of me.

I think there was a fight with Randy, the current and last therapist, last night. Anytime he throws out phrases such as "paint me into a corner" or says the word "hospital" I know there will be a showdown. All of it stemmed because we cut over the weekend. I find it amusing. We've done far more self-destructive acts than that and cutting is all he cares about. We've got our medication stock-piled again. What can he do about that? Nothing. No one is suicidal so he better watch his step.

I've decided I'm dead already. I may start blogging with my BlackBerry. That is why I got it. It's easy to send an e-mail and if we do a short little blurb on what is going on it will be the same as blogging, just not as in death. But I can send it with random, unidentifiable pictures. Privacy is important to me.

I have so much reading to do and I'm still looking out for The Woman with the Words/Music Maiden. I think her name is Victoria? I found it odd that someone named Cathy came out at our last session yet with have a little named Catherine. I'm wondering what connection there is there, if we were to really have D.I.D.

I feel very alone and unhappy. I did alot of excercise today and I think that's why I was sick tonight. I did an intense hour of regular cardio and then fourty minutes of spinning. I got sick to my stomach on the way home. And the scales stilll aren't moving. I weigh myself (probably too much) but they aren't reflecting any weight loss. Does that not call for desperate measures?

D. and I are fighting. It's so stupid to say why. Let's just get over it and move over it, but it really pissed me off and I'm tired of asshole men not taking my anger seriously.

the thought is in my head. i'm writing. we've exercised. what else is there to do. let me try to think for a moment why i want to. i love the dark. i love the skeletons. i love what is black and morbid and what hurts. i've never done drugs or smoked a cigarette. those are dark things. i don't dress like i'm asking for it. the only dark thing I have to identitfy myself and how I express myself is to cut. it's like wearing pink hair, tattoos everywhere, and piercing all over, which I'm about to get another one. Cutting is just a style, a form of expression. I crave it. It's my attire.

Wouldn't it be nice if I believed everything I just wrote? I do believe some of it. It is dark and I love what is dark, gothic, and black. I'm home with being outrageous. Up till now, no one would let me have pink hair; so I've improvised.

I wish I had better to write. I despise me. I hate me to the core. Make me go away.

Damn spellcheck won't work. ARRRGGGHHH!!!!!

Monday, January 28, 2008

The anxiety has not been as terrible today, but has been there nonetheless. We only had our most boring American Lit class today, not b/c American Lit is boring but b/c the professor is snoozeville. He could put an insomniac to sleep. The self-destructive tendencies have lessoned today. No cutting and I've kept to the prescribed amount of tranqs we're supposed to. After my first class, I discovered my second class was canceled (love that!) so we took our lunch hour off from financial aid and took a Pilates class. That was at 12:30. It is 9:00 now. I can already feel the soreness in my body. I love it. The class was an hour and after that I did an hour of cardio. We then went back to work and waited for the day to end.

we finished our pieces of Word Photos. We wrote about three things as was instructed. We wrote about losing our dog due to problems with her hips and elbows, we wrote about graduating with an Associates degree in Accounting (hate it!!) and we wrote about cutting. I like the cutting piece only because it seems to be the most creative. The content and style and technique are very creative.

I don't have much to say tonight. Sometimes you just have those nights. I don't feel good about what I ate today and I feel fat. I jumped, rather, tip toed, on the scale this morning and it told me I had gained a couple of pounds. I thought, no f'ing way. i don't. that's why i gave up the scale a long time ago. as long as i feel little in my big pants then i can relax.

perhaps there's nothing to write about b/c i've been writing these word photos for two hours. you would think three words wouldn't take that long but I like every word to have a meaning, a place, and a purpose.

we keep promising the littles a toy but feel so stupid getting them one, not to mention the money. i think if there's time before the jack ass we will take them to the Build-A-Bear shop at the mall and let them build their own pink bear. the bears we've slept with have been around so long so it's about time for something else.

i'm done tonight. i can't believe it.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

History repeats itself

I truly believe my classes are killing me. This is one of the worse weekends I've had in ages. We are to write about three memories we have. Holy Hell! Give me a break. And we have to write before we write. I did everything I was asked. I did a continuum map. I journaled about what I might write about. Next, I actually have to write it. And it has to be a word photo, meaning it must be like a photo in that we have 75-100 words to paint a picture of what we are trying to say. Our words must be very succinct and economical and not wasteful at all. I think I've decided on the three on which I will write, but one is about cutting, my first experience with it, and I don't know if I want to share that with the class. As the weather gets warmer and I wear shorter sleeves, it will be obvious that something has happened to me. My body is totally scarred from cutting. There are very few places I don't have a scar. If I wanted a tattoo, and ME does, I don't we can do it because unless it's on the ankle or on the vagina, they'll have to tattoo a scar.

The last two writings I've done were somewhat personal and I don't want to always go in there with a sob story. Pretty soon, people will start to tune out what I have to say and I really, really need to remember that it's not the story that makes it interesting it's the writer. I don't want to say what I will write my other two word photos on, but they are not near as personal. The last thing, well, next to the last thing I want to say about cutting, is that the people I'm in class with might have to deal with this with their students and it might give them a better perspective as to what goes through the mind of someone who cuts. So far, we haven't had discussion time after the feather circles so no one has really asked any one else about their writing. I don't know what made me think of that. In any case, I can see some positives about writing about it and some negatives. I just don't want to be labeled the "troubled" student who only knows how to write tragedy. They already made snide comments that hacked me about how it is so much easier to write tragedy than comedy; that was directed at me. I would like to know how it's easier. Is that on a f'ing personal level, or a technical level? Either way, got to hell.

Since I'm on the topic of cutting.... although I didn't decide to write about it tonight, yesterday I cut. I cut pretty good considering how long I've restrained myself and gone so long without cutting and when and if I did cut it wouldn't be so much. but the anxiety between yesterday and today has gripped me pretty good and nothing would alleviate it. It started after one of my writing pieces. Hungry feels good,not the writing piece. I'm starting to go over the whole place.

Focus. I wrote. I got anxious. I've been taking the meds more dutifully that the Shrink has prescribed so I can't blame it on that. I decided to take a tranq; I mean I was f'ing going out of my head like it was nobody's business. I was ramming my head in the wall, I was pacing back and forth. I couldn't stop. Finally, it seemed to settle down...for all of maybe fifteen minutes. I waited for the tranq to kick in. I just didn't do any damn good. I took another one, which I'm allowed. I can take two at once or close together if I wish. A couple hours later, after bawling my eyes out, I had to cut. D. wasn't here; I was alone. I found my trusty, rusted out single edge razor blade; rusty so I might get sicker if I use it. It's never clean which adds to the self-destruction. Hopefully I'll get some kind of disease or illness, be hospitalized, and die.

That didn't happen, but I ripped that razor blade through me a dozen times; I counted. I start of slow. Careful slices at first, and then get meaner and meaner and more daring and more daring. When I was finished on number 12, I had a mean looking slash going straight across the vein that pops out. Something makes me feel like I've written about this already. High probability since we don't read over our blogs; too dangerous.

The short of it is it's addictive. After overdosing on every downer I had around the house, D. taking me out and trying to avert my attention to something else, I finally came home and took more and finally got knocked out. My ass woke up at 3:30 anxious as hell and so I took another tranq and fell asleep sometime after 4:30. My stomach was sick when I woke up; I'm guessing it was all the meds. The anxiety continued today. I didn't want to take more meds. It didn't work yesterday. Why waste them today? I just banged my head against the wall, shook my foot till I strained a ligament, and ripped out patches of my hair. I did break down this afternoon and took one tranq. THAT seemed to help. What helped mostly is cutting again. I cut in a different place and didn't tell D. this time. I told his yesterday b/c he knew how anxious I was and so I decided to tell him. He watched me closely for a while. Soon as he stopped, I cut. It just f'ing feels better. Later comes the shame and "why did I do that" but I didn't care and I didn't' want to follow it through. Just writing about it makes me want to take that blade and slice it so deep, so hard, so flesh splitting that it is hard not to. I want to bad.

I've been mostly better ever since the tranq this afternoon. It got so bad this morning that I thought I would call Randy or the S.S.Shrink because I just couldn't stand it anymore. I thought I was going crazy as hell or would go crazy from trying to stave off craziness. I can breath right now and even feel tired. Didn't work out. Sounds stupid and counterproductive but I was too anxious to go exercise. I couldn't do it. I couldn't sit still in the car long enough to drive to the gym. Perhaps I could jog around the neighborhood. Didn't think of that. But how could I? I was just waiting on the next breath to come.

So I have so much homework that I didn't get to I will be in serious trouble. Thank goodness for my accommodations. I better stop now. I'm swear I'm getting anxious just writing about it. Something has to give. I mean NOW!!!!! God, I need major, major help. The blade is calling. Dare I answer the phone?