Posts Tagged ‘psychiatric survivor’

I hate days when I end up craving the oblivion of narcotics and benzos. Today is a day when it feels like it’s all crashing around me. The last two-ish weeks have been really awesome. But without really thinking about it consciously, last night I crumbled beneath the weight of the fun. When I wonder when it’s all going to crash around me, it starts to.

When I start feeling guilty for making friends and having a life that is totally my own, I know how far I still have to go. When I feel trapped and cornered when the barriers are purely in my mind, it drives me even more insane.

So I break under the weight of small things, and the physical pain I’ve been experiencing and brushing aside for weeks flares with such intensity, I curse the stupidity of detoxing this year and wish I still had a bottle full of painkillers.

I napped over two hours this afternoon, a desperate attempt to ease my exhaustion and escape the pain for a while. Which worked while I was asleep, but now I can’t quite move. And not being able to move makes me panic. It means I am trapped.

And so the carousel continues to turn.

It’s the small realizations: how far I am from those I love, how foreign everything and everyone is here, how I still can’t, for the life of me, admit I feel like I’m dying from pain today. How innocent the other kids are here. And I realized yesterday that they really are kids, posing as badass miniadults. While I found it amusing and cute observing this, I can’t help but wonder at the badass stories of those who say nothing, but have the same half smile on their faces. And the thought I love most of all “what the fuck are you doing here, you’re just a whore”

Bleh.

Time to go lie in the grass to catch the dying rays of the sun.

Free choice. Something that I really didn’t have for most of my life. Whether it was from doctors, being overly medicated, being pushed into choices due to disability, to being dictated to by a multitude of abusers. One would argue I never had to make any real decisions of my own.

I say ‘sure‘ in response to most things. My ‘sure‘ is not an agreement, but neither is it a disagreement. It is a neutral yet polite and positive response to something I have not yet made my mind up about. And it may very well take me a long time to make my mind up, because I like knowing my choice comes directly from me. I dislike any hint of being pushed in a direction I am uncertain I want to go in.

However, sometimes it borders on ridiculous. I answer ‘sure‘ as if I still am somewhat expecting a violent reaction from others. Which, to be honest, I am. There is a tension still there when a decision to be made is directed to me.

And yes, it is a lot easier to just let someone else make a choice, and go along with it. Which is what I typically do. And which is what I can’t really do here in Israel, where people really know their own minds and voice it.

I’ve even been told that being here is good for me cause it’ll force me to learn to make choices for myself. Which I completely agree with. But it is a statement that also makes me feel very much like a child.

Meanwhile, it is my choice to be indecisive about a lot of things. I choose to take time to make my mind up about things.

I was thinking about this cause it’s been really hard and draining, the last several weeks. I had a moderate freakout which lead to a shared cigarette and buying makeup and earrings for the lobe piercings I retired long ago. Which really isn’t a big deal on the surface, but in my mind it was the first step back into oblivion.

However, smoking made me realize why I stopped in the first place (it’s really yuck. I had to decontaminate myself afterwards). And wearing makeup does not make me look like a whore. Nor do multiple earrings.

Which made me look at why I kept thinking like that, and realizing I’m still internalizing J’s abuse long after his exit from my life. I just figured he was right: I was a whore, therefore I looked like one. So I tried to eradicate any lingering ‘signs’ (weight, clothes, hair, appearance, everything). Which is ridiculous. And brings me back to choice. Perspective too, since anyone who is human could be a ‘whore’, and what does that word mean anyways? Cause it’s really not applicable to me, despite what I lived through (circling back to choice).

Anyways.

So I essentially said fuck you in my head, and hoped he got the message, wherever he is. And went late to class this morning just to put on some makeup.

I did my nails too.

🙂

I can hear my next-door neighbour play eisbrecher http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=eisbrecher .. who’s music I know, but who’s name I never knew before.

My ex in high school burned a cd with a bunch of metal, eisbrecher being one them. So hearing it again is awesome. I’m pretty sure its them who play this song where the middle breaks into the breathy heaving of a couple having sex.

My point is, being here, now, is like total deja vu. From the different personalities, to the conversations, to the lust-filled looks I see, to the music, to the language… everything.

This, for the most part, is good. Its like I’m reliving a path I originally became hopelessly lost on, and am now finding the right footing.

But there are times I wonder to myself what the fuck am I doing here? This mostly happens when I find myself craving a smoke or a drink or a pill in the worst way. And I catch those thoughts and wonder where they come from. Of course I know… It feels like I’m back where I was, just in a parallel sort of universe.

So by keeping clean, am I changing what was and shaping what will be? Ya, I think so.

Cause it would be really easy to slide back into what I knew. Already I can feel the subtle downturn in my mood. The miniscule shifting in my thinking. The presence of triggers waiting to erupt. The slowly bubbling volcano of rage within me.

And I wonder, how much longer I can take this.

The last few days have been extremely difficult for me on an emotional level. I can handle a lot. But I start to lose it when those little things start snowballing. Cause then its like a whole mountain of crap has fallen on me and I can’t find my way out.

Part of it is cause of birthday celebrations. Which sounds so ridiculous. At least, until I remind myself that if someone else was telling me about being triggered by a birthday, I wouldn’t think anything unusual about it. If other peoples emotions and reactions are completely valid, why aren’t mine? Especially cause I’m actually sitting in the dark crying as I write.

Maybe cause by being triggered, I’ve allowed myself to remove myself from everyone else. Which looks snobbish and hermit-ish. And makes the problem worse. Mostly cause I made the problem worse just living with myself.

Cause yesterday the same pains and physical reaction my body had to being raped back in September (right before my birthday) ‘suddenly’ reappeared. Cue panic and anxiety. Then I start brooding. Then I lock myself away. Then I start freaking out about not being any better, and ending up back where I was… Anyways. You get the picture. It snowballs.

But it’s really about birthdays. And whatever unresolved issues I have there. Cause it’s awesome to be alive every day. That should be celebrated. I do celebrate it. I am thankful every morning I open my eyes. For every new day God has granted me life.

I just don’t want there to be birthdays.

I’m better about holidays. Cause its bigger then yourself. There’s a bigger picture. And it’s the same with birthdays, but that’s not the focus.

Dunno.

It’s not something I expect to get over tonight, in the dark, crying.

However,

I do expect me to get over myself. At least just a little bit.

I nearly decided to leave the country. My visa technically expires today, so I was fully ready to get on a plane and leave and admit defeat.

It’s hard, being here. Having passively sat on the sidelines for years, and having my life run on the whims of violent men, I don’t think I really appreciated what a big deal it is that I actually got on a plane by myself and went halfway around the world amidst a culture vastly different from mine. Familiar to me, since I’ve been here, in Israel, before. But not like this, living in the country.

The main thing was that I had to make a choice. Stay, and truly give it a shot, which is why I’m here to begin with – to transform and to accelerate the restoration process I’ve been going through. Or leave, because this is too big a step for me to take at this time.

It was the fact that the choice was all my own that made it so terrifying. Exhilarating too. But mostly terrifying.

Cause it means learning to deal with day to day life. Something I don’t really know how to do.

I had a couple of truly shitty days. Everything from the fleeting thought of being unqualified for anything but prostitution, to misinterpreting innocent words to mean things my exes would say, to being unable to be around anyone. All of which makes me feel like nothing has really changed, and I start over-thinking things, and once again I fear I will be what I was — zombified on drugs, in a psych ward, on the streets (I worked indoors, so of course, the street would be a ‘demotion’, a sign of how much further I had fallen)

I prayed about it. Asked for direction. Which I honestly had hoped would lead me back to the airport.

But God is bigger then whatever problem I am facing (which happens to be myself).

So here I (still) am. And here it seems I will stay.

Funny. As soon as I actually made the choice in accordance with God’s wishes, all the yucky feelings went away.

 

I’m now almost a week in Israel. Which is awesome, and beautiful. And hot. Omg, the sweat. The heat sinks into your skin and clings to you, even in air-conditioned spaces. Worth it, totally. Even if I occasionally wonder why I thought it was a wonderful idea to come in the summer.

I think I’m finally getting the picture for God’s plan for me here. The earthly plan is for me to go to a kibbutz, study and work for a couple months. Which is not 100% precisely my idea of a vacation. BUT! I get why this is such a genius plan for me.

Basically, I need to know I’m capable. And I know, I really do know that I am a capable and functioning person now. This just throws me into life. Putting theory into practice. Cause that was a huge fear of mine for years — that I would forever be trapped in a drug addled mind only able to stare into space and act out in destructive ways.

I proved myself wrong on that front. But 1. I’ve never had a normal job. Was never capable of having one. 2. I tried and failed to go back to school. Several times. 3. I had no sense of worth.

The third point is the most important one. That’s taken care of.

Its the doing stuff that I (now) know in my mind I can do. I’m no longer functionally handicap (by which I mean I could pass, on occasion, for being like any other healthy person for short periods of time and a bit of creative thinking with what I said).

But being here, healthy, is weird. In a good way. But weird.

I went today to a village in the north to see some artwork. The same village where my family wanted to send me to ‘get better’. This was, like, 6 yrs ago. But they couldn’t deal with me. And I couldn’t even being to think of how I would deal with being around other people in a foreign country. I could barely leave my house. So that trip was spent pretty miserably. I thought I hid my rage well. I probably didn’t.

Last night, walking in the dark with my aunt, she asked me in a couple different ways what happened? how did I change? She came to visit my family 3 years ago. She pointed out that she could hardly talk to me, I was so out of it. Totally true. I also remember that at the time I put in massive effort to appear normal (functional). Also a fail.

It’s a really weird question to answer. What happened? I was raped again, moped around, and woke up.

Its the “woke up” part I have trouble explaining. I was made to be chemically brain dead by psychotropics and narcotics.

Yet, this is what I knew:

1. God was there while I was being raped. God loves me. God hates seeing me in pain. For once, I wasn’t angry at God.

2. My mind cleared once I realized I wasn’t angry. The zombie-making effect of the drugs left enough for me to really focus on and grasp the things I was compelled to research, some of which is somewhere on this blog in a rant. Something stuck, and pieces started falling together. I knew how fractured I was, and how, systemically, every part of my body and mind and spirit had been rapidly breaking down.

3. I finally found the will to live. This was different then my willingness to simply remain alive, and if I die… whatever. Everyone will be better off anyways, right? I began to burn with a desire to LIVE.

4. K, so, it took 6 weeks to detox. I was getting off everything at once, which was comparable to getting off herion and/or cocaine. And the psych-meds are supposed to take a couple years to totally leave the body before it’s able to rebalance itself. Six weeks. Seriously. At the same time I changed my diet, so I had the carb-flu at the same time. But I’m fine.

5. Really, God wasn’t there? How easy would it have been to give up, to go back to shit that would eventually kill me but that I was used to. This was before I managed to repair the fragmented parts of myself. Through the worst of my self-worthlessness, I’d remember almost dying, and God’s loving embrace. And the words that it’s not my time yet.

What happened?

Um. Transformation that has lead me here, to Israel. To accelerate an already rapid journey in becoming all that God intended.

I’m going through old CDs. I had to climb over piles of clothes (fell into them too, like falling into a messy and smelly cloud. tons of fun) to find them, dusty and hidden next to a stereo system that hasn’t been used since there was clear ground on my floor (clear ground meaning I could actually use it). That was maybe 3 yrs ago.

Anyways. I’m loading it all onto itunes, and then my ipod… The reason this mundane chore (of sorts) is so cool is that this is music I typically would have freaked out over.

It’s a mixture of Israeli music I grew up, and dark gothic/metal music. Both equally triggering for various reasons. The Israeli stuff would remind me of all my failures, my guilt, my shame (real or imagined, didn’t matter). The dark stuff… well, this is what I listened to in high school, where I was abused, committed for the first time into a psych ward, ramped up my self-injury, stopped eating, overdosed in school and got politely kicked out and sent to an alternative high school… etc.

So ya. These CDs have been collecting dust.

The pain associated is just gone. I remember, when I hear this music, images come to my head… Like having to get a pass from the hospital to sing and record music for my brother’s Bat-Mitzva. Having to get a pass to attend the event, where my asshole bf was invited. Which ended with my curled up in a ball outside crying in terror. Which ended with me back in the hospital, weirdly relieved. And completely crippled with the thought that I had ruined the event for my whole family. And completely ashamed at knowing everyone was aware of my brokenness.

One of my fav songs. My creativity is inherited. I got my voice from my dad’s side. I can hear my grandmother singing when I hear this. Makes me want to cry.