Glimpses and Misses

 

If you asked me what is wrong, I couldn’t tell you.  I would want to tell you, but I wouldn’t be able to.  I don’t know what is wrong; I only know something isn’t right.  I’ve been feeling this way off and on for two weeks.  The anxiety is palpable.  It comes in waves and crashes.  I become paralyzed, fearful, and teary. 

There have been a few times, such as tonight, when I could trace the anxiety to a member, or trace it other times when the anxiety comes at night when I’m waiting for sleep to find me.

I saw Psychiatrist recently.  He put me on an additional med, and I think it is helping with some of the depressive feelings I was having.  But nothing is helping with the anxiety. 

I’m losing time more.  I’ve lost all this afternoon.  I know “what” I did, because others have told me, but I do not have first-hand account of what took place.  The last thing I remember is running a race today and taking the subway back to our car.  I was with two other girls, and I remember thinking in my head “What if they really knew me” and I remember an off-balance feeling.  The next thing I know I’m at home seven hours later, reading a book, and wondering how I got there. 

It’s no wonder I’m switching given the amount of anxiety I feel.  But I am completely controlled by emotions of which I can’t call my own.  But I catch glimpses and it frightens me.  But I have a vague awareness someone feels so deeply empty and irreparable.  Even broken hearts continue to beat.

All the same, earlier tonight a movie came on tv that we used to watch when we were younger that would always evoke strong emotions from one of us.  Tonight, we were taken back to that exact age and started crying for no apparent reason.  It was  like déjà vu. 

While we can say there are one or two positive happenings in this, our life, there is still so much lacking.  And we are at the proverbial crossroads.  I am scared of what lies down both roads, both bends, and I am even more afraid to look.  Most especially, I am afraid it won’t even matter which path we choose; we will still end up in the same crazy place.

I've lost a whole day of time. I'm not okay.

A Big Secret Wrapped in a Bow

I’m only half a person right now.  You may poke and prod, dig around for the other half of Missing In Sight.  You will not find her.  You will find more, but you won’t find her.  I’m the only one here, lost inside this head, peeking out behind her eyes.  

I am numb, and it inspires recklessness and danger throughout me.  The drive to feel pain is better than feeling nothing at all.  Inexplicably, I am so numb that I want to numb out from the numbness.  I want to take some pills that will put me to sleep for the night where I don’t have to deal with not feeling anything.

I’ve been feeling a far off irritability and distant frustration since Saturday night.  I can pin point the exact moment I changed.  The feeling just washed over me.  

It’s quite possible and probable that my irritability is a result of my recent weight gain.  Though my treatment team would say it is appropriate I gain weight, I can’t stand myself.  I feel like I thunder through the halls at school and work.  I don’t feel comfortable or safe in my own skin right now.  I definitely feel like I’m in danger and flashbacks of one of the abusers are frequent.  

I think it’s also possible this emotional instability is due to the holidays.  The big secret wrapped in a bow is that we have never celebrated one holiday.  No birthdays.  No Christmas.  No Thanksgiving.  No nothing.  The littles feel very hurt at this time of year because they have never played in what they see others do.  They have never experienced what children might feel like on Christmas, waking up to lots of presents, peeking in stockings, smelling hot cocoa wafting through the cozy, snuggly house.  The Bigs feel left out because they don’t know what it’s like to shop for others, to gather with family and watch movies together, to sit down to a special dinner with special plates and special glasses and special forks; To have enjoyable, happy and laughter filled dinner conversation; To feel the comfort and safety of family surrounding you, supporting you, loving you.  

I feel sad for all of us.  Even in the body’s adulthood, we still aren’t “allowed” to celebrate the holidays.  It’s a power of wills between the members.  And in this case, nobody wins. 

Homeless goodbyes

I’mma bout to have a panic ‘tack 

My members have gone gangsta on me. 

I’m feeling irritable tonight.  I can’t say for sure why.  I feel like I need to type the energy out through my nails.  I completed a major project for school that is worth 25% of my grade and decided to take the rest of the night off.  But nothing satisfies.  Not football.  Not music.  Not my dogs.  Not the letters from my students.  I think having nothing absolutely pressing to work on gives me a chance to be idle and to sit with myself.  And that just doesn’t do.  I can’t be alone with my head at all. 

My members have been out quite frequently.  Even at times when I didn’t think I was feeling stressed they were swirling in my head, staked out behind my eyes, watching and observing, sucking the energy from my body.  I went into my job today full of energy and hyper and high as a cat’s back, and soon I crashed.  I could feel them taking over me.  I started to get nervous.  I could feel them inside me.  I wasn’t feeling stressed.  I don’t know why they were out.

  Tonight I can’t settle down.  I’m watching the clock till I can take my sleep meds.  I really want to come off all my meds.  I’ve been down this road before where I wanted to take myself off my meds, but I was met with disastrous outcomes.  I know better, but I still play with the idea.

In ten minutes I can take my sleep meds.

This last month has been tumultuous, grand, exhilarating, and demoralizing.  I was interning as a student teacher and it was a very difficult placement in the public schools.  Every corner of my support failed me, except one of my favorite professors who thinks she understands me.    She does understand me, she just doesn’t know “what” she understands.  She doesn’t know I lose time, hear voices, see people, and feel people peering out behind my eyes.   But she does know how to alter my assignments in a way that I can understand and be successful, which goes a long, long way.

The placement in the public school was difficult.  And it brought out members that had been lying dormant for a while.  I think the last time (oh, hell) the last time I remember noticing them out was when I broke up with a guy about 15 years ago.  This man was abusive towards me.  These members had been feminists then, and as they have returned recently, they continue to hate men.  I’m noticing old fears creeping back up, old memories returning, old feelings of anger and hurt resurfacing.  We are much more reactive to movement and cognizant of escape routes.  We had a meeting with two of our professors, one whom I intensely dislike, and I had to sit in a pathway close to the door in case anything threatening happened. 

Part of what I am wondering, more especially as I type this out, is whether the return to middle school had anything to do with activating those members.   At first I thought my returning fears, time loss, and the general running around of the members had to do with my other professor for whom I have a strong dislike.  This bad seed professor has been unprofessionally abusive, harsh, and overly critical of me, which has set up a difficult teacher/student relationship.  So at first I thought he might have “tripped the wire” that brought out these other members.

Now I’m wondering if it was because I was interning in a middle school.  Middle school has extremely unpleasant memories for me; more specifically, I was bullied, endured parental turmoil, raised the birth mother, and was abused my by neighbor at the same time.  I hate middle school, so it is not a far stretch that some unpleasant memories and associations have been brought up for me. 

Memories of the old bedroom and certain landmarks of the neighbor’s house have been brought back to life for me.  I have felt myself shrinking back into a child that can’t handle things.  Back to “that” child.

I’ve come to know that those memories and feelings will NEVER go away.  There is always one waiting around the corner as soon as the current memory and association starts to fade.  There is always another memory waiting for me, waiting to hurt me and remind me I will always be a damaged child stuck in the body of a damaged adult.  I’ve come to learn there is no such thing as goodbye, because an old “hello” of a memory is always waiting for me.

Heroes needed. Apply here.

I’m decompensating.  I am fulfilling everything ever said about me.  

In my internship as a 6^th grade Language Arts teacher, my parts have been out and I’ve lost time.  My university supervisor has given me feedback regarding a comment he said I made to the students.  It was a very demeaning, destructive comment. I have no recollection of saying anything so hurtful to my students.

He said, along with my cooperating teacher, that I can not handle stress, and I break down emotionally.

I could have saved them the paperwork.  I already knew that.

It’s a hopeless situation.  I don’t know how to handle stress.  My reactions are reflexive.  Always has been.  Always will be..

And now, I’m facing my last semester of school.  I don’t want to fall short of graduation by just one semester, but I honestly think I don’t have the ability to be a teacher.   I don’t think there is any amount of cooperation I can establish among my parts to make teaching safe.  

What devastates us so much is that we try twice as hard as other people but are only half as successful.  We will never measure up.  We will always be deficient.  

I’m no longer a hero.  How pathetic.

There I am

There I am, found again.
Crouched in the corner letting no one in.

On my guard, keeping watch
against those memories that keep me caught

One final breath, and I will let go
No more hurts, you said I deserve so.

I just want to let go
please let me let go

I have a voice

 

Yesterday was my long run.  I ran 22 miles, and it was much better than last week when I hit the wall and became dizzy.  Still, I don’t think I’m training smart.  I did 11 miles on Saturday when I should have been resting; I could feel the fatigue in my legs yesterday.  They were tired, and I had to push through the run.  When I was finished the run my body was so sore and achy I was walking funny back to the car.  I immediately came home to stretch, but Sam, my dog, was feeling left out.  He decided to do some yoga, too.  How could I say no to him?

(Sorry for the blur.  My iPhone is broken.)

So what was I thinking on this long run?  More recovery analogies?  Actually, yes, but I will save those for another time.  I was reflecting on how I have several postings I’ve completed but haven’t published.  My reluctance in publishing them is that I feel no one would want to read them.  I feel the writing isn’t good, the content is crap, and readers would be disappointed.

I play the comparison game a lot with my blog.  I read a myriad of other blogs and see how large their readership is and how popular they are.  They’re funny, they’re interesting, they’re engaging.  I’m left feeling that nobody will care what I have to say, that my voice is unimportant, and my blog is boring. 

I realize that the other blogs I read appeal to a broader community than my blog on dissociation and an eating disorder.  The blogs I read, other than a handful of mental health blogs, are blogs on running and food.  That type of blog just attracts a wider audience.  In addition, they are professional bloggers.  But still, I feel what I have to say is lifeless, bland, and unworthy of reading.

I know this is my blog and I can say what I want and how I want.  But I feel it is your blog, too.  If I wanted to write just to express my feelings, I would do that in my private journal.  I write on this blog to share my life, my hopes, my successes/failures, and my story.  It is my hope that the reader will be able to take something away from reading my words and that they can relate to me and realize they are not alone.   

In writing this just now, I realized I am deciding for you, by  not publishing my posts, what you find useful and interesting, and that is unfair to you.  I do  have a voice, and I shouldn’t shut it off because I predict you won’t want to hear it.

So I may not have the blogging success of others I read, but that doesn’t mean the blog I do have is a failure, I hope. This blog may not be perfect.  It may lack style and a certain je ne sais quoi.  And  my thoughts definitely tumble over themselves, competing for attention, causing my writing to be frustrating and effortful.   But I have a voice and it should be heard.  And it is my wish that from my blog you will take what you need, find a little hope, and know you  have a friend,  crappy writing and all. 

Long Run Ramblings

This post is a couple of days late, but it’s still time for some long run ramblings on recovery.

To see other ways recovery is like running a marathon, look at 1/2 Marathon Musings and The Marathon of Recovery.

This past long run on Sunday, I was reflecting on how hitting a stride or pace in running is similar to hitting a stride in recovery.  When I go out for a long run, it takes me 3-5 miles before I actually hit my stride, get into a comfortable pace, and “sit” back and enjoy the run.  When I first start out running, it usually feels miserable.  My legs rebel, my lungs don’t want to cooperate, and everything inside of me is telling me to turn around and go to Dunkin Donuts go home. 

But I don’t give in or take the easy way out.   I push through.   I know that after my warm up and get into my run a few miles I will feel better and even enjoy the run.

I’ve found recovery to be similar. Sometimes you have to push through the uncomfortableness of the beginning of recovery to hit your stride. 

 I’ve been in varying stages and degrees of recovery before, and there’s one thing I’ve always noticed: taking that first step, getting help, and starting out is the hardest move. But once you’ve made step after step, mile after mile in recovery, it tends to get easier.  Once you start opening yourself up to the process of following a meal plan, restoring yourself to a healthy weight, and working on the issues that brought you to your eating disorder, recovery starts to get better.  After you’ve done your warm up and found your stride in recovery, the steps it takes to get healthy become second nature and less antagonistic.

Along the same lines, it’s true that in the marathon of recovery, we might tire out along the way, “hit the wall”, and stop, also known as relapse.  This “stop” in recovery reminds me of a real stop I make during my long runs.  There happens to be a McDonalds off the trail somewhere around the half way mark, and I stop in there to fill up my hydration belt and sneak a little free Coke Zero.  The stop feels great!  I’m out of the heat, I’m not pushing myself, I’m refreshing myself with ice water, and I have a brief rest period.  But when I start the second half of my running, my body again doesn’t want to listen to me and demands that I stop. Still, I push through, though it takes some time again before I find my groove in running. 

A relapse in recovery is no different. If we stop taking the steps and the miles we took in the beginning of recovery to start getting healthy, we are not going to want to start again.  It is going to be that much harder to take the first step and find our running legs again.  Our body, our ED, will rebel , making a run for recovery difficult.

 So give yourself a chance to hit your stride in recovery, to get better.  And once you do, don’t slow down, don’t stop.  Continue in your groove.  Keep going.  If you take it step by step, mile by mile, your marathon of recovery will be successful.  

Life in the stress lane

First things first, I didn’t post yesterday, but got in a tough 8.5 mile run, with a 1 mile warm-up.  When I finished my run, I decided to walk up the trail to the shopping center at the top of the hill where an Atlanta Bread Company lays waiting for me with an iced coffee.  It is a 2 mile walk round trip. 

The iced coffee wasn’t as good as Dunkin Donuts (sorry I cheated on you, DD), but I did find where they are putting in a new fro-yo store.  Score, big time!

Today before my run, Husband met me at the trail and we had a 30 minute walk.  I’m trying to get him more active and he agreed to do a run/walk 5k with me in October.  I’m hoping a little exercise will improve the deep depression that has kidnapped him right now.  Towards the beginning of the trail, we noticed a man flat on the ground with a pack of EMTs around him.  We heard the sirens of the ambulance on the way.  As everyone was giving the firefighters space to work on the downed man, we were all talking about how important hydrating ourselves is.  This occurrence happened at 8:30 in the morning when it was only 73 degrees out, but high humidity. 

So, my PSA today is to keep yourselves hydrated before, during, and after your run. 

After our walk, I had a 4 mile recovery run.  I wanted to get some mileage in today, but didn’t want to push it too much because my long run is tomorrow.  I’m really looking forward to it.

I haven’t written in a few days because things in my life are a little . . . um . . . anxiety filled.  I’ve not a shred of creativity and my brain feels depleted.  I have things to write about, but when I sit down to type it out, the words escape me.

One of the biggest struggles I perceive in my life right now is Husband.  He just finished his 12 rounds of ECT (Electro Convulsive Therapy).  While, for a time I noticed a slight improvement in his mood, the last couple of days he has been extremely depressed and anxious and fearful.  The effects of the ECT treatments have stressed not only him, but me as well, because I feel like I’m living with a child.  His short term memory is fried, and he can’t remember answers to questions he asked me just five minutes prior. I am taking care of affairs that normally would fall to him and that he previously coped with better. He says he doesn’t feel like himself.  He worries he will never be the same.  I feel helpless.

I don’t know how to help him.  We considered him returning to the hospital this weekend for inpatient treatment, but decided against it, since he sees his psychiatrist on Monday who can make a recommendation as to where to go from here with his treatment.  They’ve restarted him on his anti-depressant, but that takes weeks to kick in.  So it’s really hard to be positive right now.  I can’t handle my own anxiety, much less help him with his. 

On a better note, last night as I was running early to my appointment with Dietician (major epic fail session.), I noticed a sign for a bookstore in a shopping center.  I <3 books, so I HAD to stop!   When I walked in the bookstore, I saw that it was a new and USED bookstore, so my inner Book Snob immediately was judgmental at the thought of used books.    But we looked around anyway and found our way to the Young Adult section.  Surprisingly, most of the used books were in amazingly good condition and were 50% off the book price!  Major score!  Being tight on money, even in a used book store, we could only buy one book, so we found a book by Laurie Halse Anderson titled Prom.  Though it’s not War and Peace or The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, it’s a really good, easy read and one I know my female students will like.  My collection of loaner books for my students is growing larger, and I’m really stoked about having so many choices to offer them. 

Lastly, as I was leaving the store, I noticed some chairs and tables lining the walkway outside the strip mall. They belonged to a store called Menchie’s, another fro-yo store!  I went inside and they had all the amazing flavors and toppings that will do my fro-yo addiction proud.  Score, again!

So, even though I’m living life in the stress lane, I’ve had some good runs, took Husband on a walk, found two new fro-yo stores, and an up-scale used bookstore. 

Not bad for someone hanging on by a thread.