Let's face it,when my brain is full of words (even when those words are feeble in saying exactly what I want to say), I have to core dump sometimes.  I will say things wrong, or inadequately, but sooner or later, I do have to express myself.  And more often than not, that has been here.  I'm working hard lately, to express myself verbally — to talk with people and to say just what I want to say.  But, for so many years, I've not been able to make my voice express what I really want to say, so here I am again, taking pen in hand (or rather, fingers to electrons and keyboard), because it's in the written word that I best find my 'voice.'  (I also find it, too, when I sing, but that's me expressing things with others' words.)

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Tags: backstory, growth, love, me, processing, writing

Funny how, although my fingers seem to be typing through cotton, I still want to write today. In particular, I want to get down some thoughts on a new med I'm taking.
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Happy Friday, all!

Tags: add, drugs, meds, processing
The State of the Cranium is: : cheerful

I'm Deb. I'm a survivor of sexual violence.
No Pity. No Shame. No Silence.

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Tags: me, memories, processing, survivor
The State of the Cranium is: : contemplative

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Tags: death, friends, holding space, processing, sadness
The State of the Cranium is: : hungry
Current Music: The Diane Rehm Show - MI Public Radio

( More stress and depression ramblings....Collapse )

Tags: anxiety, depression, processing, self-care

And now: The Larch. (mild applause)

Okay, so it was a much better joke when Monty Python did it. At least I didn't introduce it as "lupines." :-) And I could you know, being a bit lupine, myself. *snark*

Yes, the thing that's completely different for me this evening is *posting here*. And yes I know I've been horribly lax as of late (okay, so as of the last several years.... but who's counting...??)

The last entry was exceptionally sad, I know. And I am still grieving the loss of a new friend. But I have learned still more about myself in the process. See, I think that part of the reason why Mike P's death hit me so hard was that I'd only just gotten to know him, and then the opportunity for any further friendship was suddenly wrenched from me. And I feel those losses all too keenly, being a child of perpetual uprootedness (9 schools in 12 years as a kid). I felt sorely deprived of what would have probably been a wonderful friend.

And I feel the same thing when I see others leaving my life, because in my experience, (except in the case of those in Seattle, bless their sweet Left-coast souls), out-of-sight has come to mean out-of-mind.

Which generally means that if you are leaving my life, then I won't be seeing you anymore. So long; bye-bye. End of story. And I am SO DAMNED TIRED of finding friends that I have come to love (and who appear to love me), only to have them leave. IT HURTS TOO DAMN MUCH. And unfortunately for me, I am not capable of just not caring... it's not in my genetic makeup.

So, I fuss and I whine when someone says they are going to leave, just as I have for quite a while now with a friend at Drugs-R-Us (PrettyBlueEyes). Yes, he's cute, and yes, I find him attractive (duh?), but there are two *BIG* boundaries that I have known about since he got here that I fully respect (they mesh well with two personal rules I have had for quite some time now: #1 - DON'T get involved with people you work with/share a house with; #2 - DON'T wreck families; respect others' bonds). So, he has become a good friend. 'Nuff said.

And this gentleman makes a *fine* friend, trustworthy, quick-witted and smart as hell (three of my *must haves* in a friend), so I've had nary a problem with it. But damn it, I am really *TIRED* of finding people that make good friends, only to have them leave my life!

But he's been saying for some time now that he is not happy where he is. And yes, I've said that he ought to go where he is happy. And yes, I *do* want him to be happy; watching him be miserable is not only torture for me; it makes him grumpy to be around (and I really don't think it's in his nature to be grumpy). I know he'd be happier closer to home, but I'm greedy and am therefore disappointed to see him go, even as I cheer as I see that he's going after what makes him *happy*.

So, I guess this is just another bitch session where I whine and moan about how the world doesn't wag the way *I* want it to. Yes, I know. Poor me. I shall now go and cry *someone* a river. No, really. I will. HONEST.

*rolls eyes*

Ok, I'm sorry.... I know this must be petulant whining on my part, but could I *please* learn how to make friends with people who *don't* leave? Sheesh! I never even got to have a best friend for more than a year or two, as a kid, before it was time for me to go to another school, or move to another town! Another persona, another location, another reality; and once again, I'd have to start over. I'm just SO DAMN TIRED OF IT; it hurts too much to see another friend step out of my life.

And I know that the main reason that my Seattle loved ones have NOT left the scene is because *they* work to keep up with me, as much as I work to keep up with them. It is a woefully small price to pay for me to purchase a ticket cross-country..... to me it seems like mountains of gold for someone to remember me, and to want to see me when I come to visit, and to still be there, time after time, jokingly fighting about who *gets* to have me That means more to me than any amount of gold or fame -- to be loved and to not be forgotten.

Not that I'm not a good person, or that I don't deserve to be remembered. I know I do.... but I also know that people have other lives, and that when I leave, the space that I occupied in their lives closes over, like a hole in water closes over, leaving nothing but an even surface behind, no trace of what was there before.

And people in Seattle do go on with their lives. But the thing that keeps me fresh in their minds is that I am a *part of their community* on-line; the magic of that community is that it exists on-line and in real life. I know that a hug in asterisks on-line from Mike is backed up with a wonderful bear-hug from a sweet, witty man from Microsquish in Seattle (who blushes if a guy kisses him). And I know that a kiss on the cheek from my favorite Vanilla Girl, Meg (Megatron!) is backed with a real, honest-to-goodness one from her in real life (probaly complete with a huge hug, and lipstick marks on my cheek, as well as a hug and a kiss from her bf John). These are wonderful people, and they are REAL, and to them, I am not just some chick that lives in Michigan. I am Deb, or Loba, or Cutie, or SnackeyCakes (funny how nicknames make you giggle, even when you're typing them). I am *real* to them, and they are *real* to me, and they've taught me to disbelieve my prior experiences, and to *TRUST* what I see with my heart. Thank goodness for that.

See, I knew from past experience that you CANNOT go back again to a place you once called home. It doesn't work; it just hurts. In 10th grade, I tried it; I moved away from my home in MI to SC for about 6 months, then back to the same high school for 11th grade.

And it was AWFUL. People's lives go on, and your old friends suddenly aren't your friends -- they don't even know you anymore. They have new best friends and new lives, and the place you occupied with them has completely grown over with someone new. You can't go back; I tried. It's like being a non-person, with no-one, and nothing left. No place to go. And all it did was *HURT*.

So, when I see someone leaving my life, I fret and I whine, because from *my* point of view (mostly), that means that *that* friendship is done. Kaput. Over. That person is preparing to just walk out of my life -- for what looks like FOREVER.

AND THAT HURTS.

The *only* people who have proven this wrong have been my Seattle friends, through the love and strength and constant presence in their electronic community. I share their lives because I am a part of their community, on line and in person, and because they make room in their lives for me. And even though I'm not always able to be there, they know I'll be in when I can, and they love me and support me anyway. And I treasure it more than gold.

See... I'm not wigging out *just* for the sake of wigging out (although I *could*, and call it experiential learning for my primary job... ok, yes, that *is* a bad joke). I am wigging out for the same reason that I wigged out when Mike P. died. I wigged out after Mike P's funeral because I'd just only gotten to know him a little bit, and he seemed like a person who could be a good friend. And then *poof* he was gone. Forever.

And I AM SO DAMN SICK OF LOSING PEOPLE I HAVE GROWN TO LIKE. Or love. And yes, damn it, I *do* love my friends. *VERY MUCH*. (And those of you who know me, understand that. Or at least I *hope* you do.)

So, perhaps that explains things, if only a little. (And I hope I haven't been TOO redundant.) And I think it explains things a bit, about me, eh? Yes, I think so. Because sometimes I react to things a *bit* out of proportion for the situation, and stopping to re-hash things tells me *where* the intensity is coming from. In this case, it's from this strange thing called my life, and all the varied experiences that add up to it.

That, and I'm just an intense person; I *very rarely* do things halfway. And maybe that's a *good* thing.

*grins*

G'night all.

Tags: crush, introspection, me, processing, whine
Current Music: Alan Parsons Project - "Eye In The Sky" (the whole thing)
The State of the Cranium is: : pensive

(thank you KSF, sweetling, for the reminder.)

I had a dream last night where it ended with me driving around Saginaw, and exploring, very thoroughly, where I used to live, and for the most part, where the breakdown began. I remember bits and pieces of the dream, and even when I half-awoke, and then went back to the dream to resolve something, in an attempt to bring healing and closure. I remember seeing a couple, and going into their house, because they used to throw a party my parents attended long ago. I remember hunting for the berry bushes on the edge of Foss, and looking for the vacant lot they were in. I remember going back to houses, and looking for people long gone. And I remember going back to see my old apple tree, which was there, and how I longed to go and sit in it again (but how annoyed the people must be, my having come back several times to see the tree). But I also remember how other apple trees had been torn down, and how I kept a piece of a knot-knarl from one, intending to make something of it for myself.

And that is the point where I half-awoke, and re-entered the dream. I went back to the place where Something Happened. I talked with people in the house (even though I don’t remember them actually being there), and I told them why I’d done what I did. Then I went into the backyard, where It Happened. I went to the spot, and I dug a hole. I cried a little, and I smiled, for the healing I knew that would take place. And I dropped a malachite and a rose quartz into the hole, and covered them again with earth, patting it down.

I’ve been back there, to see that child before, and to try and re-model the scene. But I’d never gone back to just offer healing at the place. And I think it helped. This morning I woke up, feeling like I had resolved something important, like I had emerged out the other side of a wearying storm. And I feel better physically than I have in days. And I feel better emotionally, too, even though Charlotte is probably not quite out of the woods yet, nor will she ever really be.

And an aside of strangeness that seems to fit well nonetheless: I read before sleep last night, after having talked with my Mom for over an hour. That felt good, and I found some resolution… with Emmanuel, of course, but strangely enough, moreso with Nietzsche. I picked up a dog-eared copy of Zarathustra, and re-read some important stuff, and felt quietly comforted, at a deep soul-level. And then I fell asleep, waking only to pet the kitty when she stirred or coughed, and to make my usual midnight run to the bathroom.

I have spent far too much time as of late outside my own head, not keeping my own counsel. I have allowed the value I place in being valued by others to override my own, intrinsic sense of value for myself. I have shunned my own blessed solitude, running like I don’t know the difference between it and loneliness. Silly me, it is an old, familiar friend, and it longs to embrace me. Zarathustra reminded me of it last night.

So here I am, not quite able to give voice to all that ails me, but am now able to write without having to steal from others’ works to find a voice.

And on the other crisis-front, Charlotte ate last night, and drank some, and ate again this morning. And she took her meds without too much fuss, and purred and snuggled a lot with me last night. So, for now, life is *good*.

Perhaps, I just might be coming back. :-)

Tags: dreams, healing, me, processing

Okay... so I read some things that said what I want to say, rather succinctly. So, I'm stealing them point blank (with a tiny bit of editing), and laying them out here for your perusal.

Thank you kris for being so good with words; for now they do so much more than I can. Please forgive my thievery.

(I'll write from my own head later. Really. I promise.)

****************
To be honest I hate all these questions. Why, what, who do you think you are? I don't feel like I can actually adequately capture things. I feel everything is always in such a state of flux and so dependant on my mood that there can never be anything but a shadowy glimpse. I am so much more than what can be contained or reflected here, but habit and obligation take over, so the same paths get well hewn.

I am terrified…

Most aspects of my life are in a period of transition. To be honest I don't have much idea what I am going to do. I am hoping this next year will be one of discovery and self acceptance...

I’m moody. I have a penchant for self created drama. I’m self destructive. I am convinced that I will never measure up.

I am devoted to systems that will move me toward my ultimate perfection but yearn to simply surrender to who I am in this moment, and so therefore never really get much of anywhere.

I’m kind, gentle most of the time, compassionate, generous, forgiving, witty, silly, impetuous, unorganized, fearful of time constraints and commitment. I drive barefoot and sing songs at the top of my lungs as I drive.

I have a small talent for words that sometimes lends itself toward insight or creative expression, but most of the time I just chase my tail in the same familiar concentric circles. I seek and seek and seek—and am afraid of most of the answers as the more and more I analyze the more I realize it is all on me. My suffering self created, my happiness my responsibility (how’s that for a rusty platitude?).

At any moment I feel as if I will finally break out and allow myself to fully embrace the wild girl that I am.

I want to love myself the way I love the people in my life: Hard, full of loyalty and acceptance for all their flaws and gleaming beauties, loving them *because* of their flaws, and not just in spite of them.

Maybe I will come across as shallow, self absorbed, contrived, whimpering, weak, tepid and lacking a distinct spine (all things I have thought of myself), perhaps there will be no value here, or the only value is to watch me swerve around from wound to wound never healing anything, and maybe I am all of the above, unable to put them down to momentary circumstance. Maybe I will always stay on the skin of things, never able to break through, but damn, I sure need to hope I will. Hope that I will allow myself to be who I am, rather than trying to conform or shape myself to fit what others want. I hope I will lose interest in this nice girl dance that makes no one happy, that makes me have no respect for myself and makes others have pity (as well as derision).

I hope that I will learn not to give a fuck.

****************

Tags: me, other people's words, processing, writing

Sometimes I have to face the fire....

....and sometimes I just have to jump in.

This weekend (yesterday, in fact), I had a breakdown, of sorts. A friend came over, and helped me to stop crying, and I knew that if I needed refuge elsewhere, that I could go and stay with my Mom, and this was good. I will write more about this later, but for now suffice it to say that I have been last on my own list for a long time, and everything came to a head last night, when I had finally had enough of not being good enough for *anyone*.

So, I lost it.

I'm okay now, although feeling a little fragile.... and being thankful for good friends who care...and I am going to continue trying to care for myself first. And to not let what others think of me (even those people I care about most) affect how *I* feel about me. With Friday having been a horrid day, coupled with Saturday, and my poor coping decisions Saturday night, it really was a mess.

But, it was honest, and let something out that *needed* to get out. I am motivated way too much by guilt, and it's something I need to work on.

More later; must return the laptop now, and go be brave.
(And yes, I will write about this again later, and no, I'm *not* going to hurt myself. I'm safe, and am trying to take better care of myself. Thank you to all who care; your thoughts mean worlds to me.)

Until later, then.

Tags: emotions, me, processing

Do you ever have days when you’d rather just give up? I mean just toss the whole lot, ditch *everything* and start over, completely from scratch? As though starting from nothing would be better than the mess in front of you?

Well, I’m having one of those days today. Actually, it started last night, in a fight with someone I DO NOT want to fight with (I’m not his wife, fer chrissakes). It culminated with spite-filled words being hurled from either side, and me driving off in a snit, only to collapse in tears in a parking lot a few minutes later. And I spent the rest of the evening at home, lying on my couch in the dark, soaking the blanket with tears and cursing my fate.

Today hasn’t started much better, even if I do have an interview (sort of) later. My dyslexia kicked in just as my boss said something important to me, and I had to ask again, and felt like an idiot. My body isn’t that tired, but my soul sure is. And no one seems to be able to adhere to a schedule I took pains to compile, so what was the use of my doing it in the first place? I know that sounds petty and childish, but I’m feeling petty and childish just now, so I guess it fits.

I am TIRED of taking care of other people; I want to be taken care of, for a change. I am sick to death of coddling and otherwise being a nanny for other people’s emotions; I want someone to care for, and about, *me* for a while. I am tired of always coming in last, and always being the bigger person. I want to be coddled, and have special things done for me. I’ve done it enough for others; it’s MY turn now.

And I don’t want to feel this hurt and despair; I want to be able to believe in people as something more than mindless objects that end up using you for what they can, and then throw you away afterward. And most of all, I don’t want to become like that.

Oh…and I haven’t had any breakfast this morning, so I’m sure that improves my mood considerably.

No, really.

I think that going to Clarkston this weekend may be a mistake; I need to do some taking care of myself, and some self-cossetting. And I don’t know that it would happen there. Being alone may not solve the problem either, but perhaps then I will finally learn to take care of myself. I don't know.

And, I think this all may have been precipitated by an argument I had with Jim on Wednesday night, in which I asked for my apartment keys back, after he had used a plastic bowl of mine in the oven (then insisted that it wouldn’t melt, as he’d used it in the oven twice before). And my first thought was, what kind of bonehead puts a plastic bowl in an oven inthe first place?

Yeah, I know it sounds stupid. I think it was. But the long and short of it was that I said if I could not trust him with a plastic bowl (which he insisted that he would use again in the oven), then how could I trust him with my other things? So, he hasn’t called me, and I haven’t called him. And it’s funny; the past two mornings, I have gotten up just fine on my own, without his calling me to wake me. Fancy that.

And I have kind of an “oh well” attitude about the whole thing, because I am sick of his bullshit. I know that underneath, somewhere I am hurting about this, just like this fight with the person last night hurts, but I’m trying to just function on the outside. Neither of the encounters were “healthy” ones (not mentally healthy by any stretch of the imagination). I can only hope they cleared the air, although I think last night’s may have only been bad.

I just hurt; I am raw and aching inside. I feel deserted and betrayed, and I’m not so sure it isn’t me who has done the deserting and betraying. I think I need time to sort things out. I don’t know if time alone will help or not.

I will decide later if I’m going tomorrow or not. For now, I’m just going to do what needs to be done here (which is never much).

More later.

Tags: emotions, me, pain, processing, whine

Ok, I've talked about my meds here, and how not taking them makes me crazy... and how I spent my childhood, teenage years and young adulthood feeling like that most of the time.

Add to it the strange elixir of hormones that naturally comes with being a female, and once in a while, you end up with a moody, crabby Deb. Today is one of those days. I hate feeling paranoid, like if people don't talk to me, then they hate me. I *know* better than that, but sometimes the emotions run in that direction, and I follow, nerves trailing behind. My logical brain gets into an argument with my emotional brain... and the result is a messy storm. At those times, I place far too much weight on my hypervigilant (but warped) perceptions of others, and I see things and motivations that aren't there.

Don't get me wrong, I am a firm believer that actions are a strong indicator of what someone really believes and thinks. But during those turbulent times, it's like my vision becomes clouded, and overly self-focused. I'll look at someone and perceive their strained smile as hostility towards me, and only me. Or take their silence as their cruelly ignoring me. It sounds incredibly selfish, self-centered and egotistical, as if everything reflects on (and depends on) me. What a grandiose, self-centered way to move through life!

And really, it *is* self-centered, but I never understood that there was anything else. I never learned any other way to live inside my own head until I started my meds, and the painful emotional storms began to calm. Prior to then, I never understood that others' actions and reactions may have *absolutely nothing* to do with me. Or that my behavior might be what they were reacting to, and not me as an individual. It wasn't that they didn't like *me*... just that they didn't like what I was doing, and how I was acting. I could *never* take a break from defending my actions, could never really relax -- even a little -- unless I was drunk or high.

I was pushy and egotistical, paranoid and rude to others on the outside, while inside I was just trying to make sure the outer world didn't keep stepping on those horribly painful exposed nerves that seemed to be leaking out of me at every turn. It was a bad situation and I didn't know how to make it better.

Now I understand a lot more, and can see the emotions for what they are, and can try to *not* react to them, and to *not* lash out when they come. It's still a struggle, espeically when I still have to fight rigid systems and ignorant individuals, just to get the meds I need to function. I get frustrated, and it's then that the fight to *not* become a total bitch becomes insurmountably difficult. It feels like a losing battle. I want to scream and rage and cry... and that is exactly the behavior that will NOT get me the help I need.

It is a difficult situation to be in. If you don't get what I'm describing, or if you want a more comprehensive picture, read Elizabeth Wurtzel's book, "Prozac Nation." When I read her book, it was a profound personal ephiphany. I understood for the first time that I am not the *only* one in the world who feels this way. Others also have to do battle with these emotional storms. Nor do I need to feel permanently ashamed for my horribly selfish behavior... I just need to learn how to correct that behavior.

Since I've started my meds, I have been able to relate a lot more empathetically with the outside world, and I tend to be a lot more patient with others, because I "get it" that they are often struggling, just like me. I can relax now, and not be so defensive. It's easier to work a normal job, and while the struggle to take good care of myself is still ongoing, I think it's getting better, slowly. And when I take my meds regularly, I don't have overwhelming guilt and shame as my constant companions.

I think my increased clarity about who I am, and how I function, has also been helpful, but that too has come about as a result of starting meds, and talking with a counselor. My strange behaviors are no longer a mystery, and I am able to control the crazy compulsions that used to rule me.

And I'm really grateful for it.

That's about it for now. Maybe I'll write more later.

Tags: depression, emotions, me, processing, sensitive