Safety is as Stupid Does

Maybelline taking a long nap after a walk.

I feel uneasy and unsettled, and a lot has to do with our session with Therapist.  The clock revealed only 30 minutes had elapsed, so I must have lost time in there.  I remember talking about Husband’s violent behavior and about how others cope who don’t cut, which I find interesting because the cutting isn’t what Therapist should be worried about.  Burning and my restrictive thoughts and behaviors should concern him more.  But with satisfaction I digress.  

Always looking for safe places.

So I’m supposed to blog about what would make me feel safe; what in my present life would make me feel safe.  

LOL.  I’m more likely to find the 8th World Wonder.

SAFETY: the condition of being protected from or unlikely to cause danger, risk, or injury. Security.

Ironically, what has made me feel the most unsafe is the only thing that can make me feel safe again.  Men.  I remember how safe Former Psychiatrist made me feel.  He spoke softly and tenderly to us.  He even allowed me to see how my poetry made him cry.  

Some have said they feel safe with Therapist.  I can’t say that.  I don’t feel he’s warm, soft, or caring, and that’s what we need.

Safety should be a one-way street.  There should be other things to make me feel safe.  But the truth is that what destroyed me is the only thing that can resurrect me.  

But in a perfect world, what would keep me safe?

I can’t answer that.  Nothing will or would.  I’m constantly aware of the dangers around me.  I wonder if you can be both.  Can you be aware of danger but be safe at the same time?

I have no concept of safety.  I’ve always wanted to feel taken care of and protected.  To the core and by the core, we’ve never felt safe.

This subject is bringing out my self-harm inclincations.

I hate this fucking topic of safety.  No where in the world is it safe.  Danger lies in everyone’s thoughts and behind everyone’s perverted fucking eyes.  

I don’t wanna write anymore.  

But we didn’t find the answers.  

Except for one: it’s not safe even inside.  

(There is a child talking to me with a British accent and I hear Victoria trying to calm her)

Why is she upset?   Is she upset because there’s no safety anywhere?

*Realization*

Words.  Words make Victoria feel safe, especially when she can artfully craft them and express them just how she wants them to be.  She’s protected by her words.  They are her defenses.

The rest of us don’t have one.

Tales from the visits with Mother-In-Law

I went out of town for a few days.  Not a vacation.  More like looking after recently widowed Mother-In-Law.  I love her dearly, but she came back with me for a week, and I'm already nervous.  My dissociation has heightened to an unmeasurable degree.  I don't play nicely with others, and I don't want to share my apartment with her.  I couldn't even begin to write until I heavily medicated myself and put myself into a sleep.

I don't think it's Mother-In-Law.  I think my new apartment has been created as a place of comfort, and I don't even like sharing it with Husband.   He doesn't appreciate it at all. Which is another story entirely.  As soon as I got home and saw him I felt my skin crawl and the chaos in my head began.  Someone doesn't like him and steals from me.  If I don't resolve life with him I don't think there will be a marriage much longer.  He's got less than a year now to show signs he's willing to participate in change with me.

But my happiest times lately are when I get up, have coffee, slowly wake up, work around the apartment, read, take Maybelline for a walk, and continue my day however.

The cutting has subsided, but I crave burning myself.  Being watched by Mother-In-Law 24/7 and taking care of her in return has left little opportunity to comfort myself.  But I think of burning.  I know what I will do.  I crave it.  I imagine and fantasize about it.

I stuck pretty much to my weight loss plan while I was gone.  I weigh in tomorrow, hating what the scale says, hating what it doesn't.

I absolutely don't want to see Therapist for our session tomorrow.  I'm afraid it will be a let-down session, that there will be no true communication, partly me to blame.  The defenses are already being erected early, anticipating on what he might want to discuss.  It will be a waste if he bull shits the first thirty minutes and then tries to raise delicate issues.  If Therapist is going to bring up shit, he should bring it up quickly.  I don't want to wait there wondering when the other shoe will drop.

All in all, except for dissociative episode tonight, I'd say I'm doing well.  It's nice to be able to say that.

ARE YOU SAFE?

Trigger Warning

YOU ARE NOT SAFE, NOT EVEN CLOSE.

I am quite uneasy; be still my nerves.  An unknown nagging feeling keeps jabbing at the back of my mind, worrying me, filling me with concern and disrupting my thoughts.  

I am supposed to write something for Therapist, but I don’t know if I have an accurate topic.  Something about finding a reason to give up cutting and restricting.  

I suppose this is in response to the fact that I’ve been cutting and joined a weight loss program that I am taking a little too far.

So I guess the question is why keep going back to old patterns that “don’t serve me well.”  

My response then questions why should I let go of "old patterns" such as cutting and restriction when they keep me safe.  Perhaps I am the fool or just engage in foolish behavior.  I own both.  But why give any self destructive behavior up when they serve the purpose of protecting us.  

I have an alcoholic part, but she doesn’t get out often.  But those that cut and restrict are doing so to protect us.  If we didn’t hurt ourselves, then wouldn’t others?  Maybe we’re just beating other people to the opportunity.

All I know is engaging in behaviors keeps me child-like, needy, requiring others to take care of us, make us safe, safe, safe.  It’s selfish, I know.  It’s almost manipulative to carry on hurting onself so others will be obligated to handle our life.  

For me, there is no safety.  I do not feel safe.  There have been brief moments of feeling almost, kind of safe with Therapist.  It doesn’t get lost on me that my long-term therapeutic relationships have been with men.  It’s also not lost on me, though highly ironic, that I was engaged to an abusive man with whom I felt safe.  

Maybelline sitting in my lap making it hard to write.

I’ve spent all of my life searching for safe places, from real and perceived monsters.  Searching for safe places for my minds.  What one part thinks is safe another doesn’t.  

So I just cut.  It feels good.  It’s not a desperate plea for others to notice, although we hope they do.  If others learn what we are doing, maybe they will save us from ourselves.

See, we’ve been on a weight-loss program, but we’ve taken it too far.  There are ways to get around recording what you’re eating.  And in addition, the calorie/point range is too low.  How do we know?  Dizzy spells.  Dizzy when standing.  Fatigue.  But we take our Adderall, get busy, skip lunch, and enjoy the thrill of winning that day.  And when we don’t win, we take a razor to our skin because that somehow makes it okay that we effed up our food that day.  And we keep it a secret until we can no longer stand it, and we hope someone will rescue us from ourselves.  Make it safe.  Make it safe.  Make it safe.

And we are carted off to recovery facilities where they check appendages and other self-harm canvases, weigh us, check our vitals, and save us from ourselves.  But no more.  I will never go to another facility only to get a patch job.  

So what now?  How does one feel safe?  Does one ever feel safe?  When is it enough: to be safe from others or safe from ourselves?  Are those two even possible?

Secure, safe, protected, shielded, guarded, loved.  I don't know those words or connotations.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt loved in my life.  Never felt safe.  Never felt protected.

And when I hurt myself by cutting or restricting, that’s me saying, “I love you, and I will make sure you are safe and will be protected/looked after.”

And now that I’ve just made myself cry, I’m going to go make myself feel safe, loved, and protected.