Coincidence?

Another year has gone by.  Yesterday we marked the 11th anniversary of 9/11.  Today marks the anniversary of my adoptive father's death.

My adoptive mother texted me this morning..

"Thinking of you today..love, Mom"

I wrote back that I was thinking of her too but in actuality, I was trying to not think about anything having to do with my father. 

When I used to go to the cemetery with my mother, sister and our families every September to plant flowers and mourn the loss of the man who abused me for so many years, I always saw a Monarch butterfly flitting around the area surrounding his gravestone.  I never thought much of it until a few years ago.

At our old work location, we'd go outside on our breaks and sit on the benches..chatting and enjoying the nice weather during the fall.  Every September a Monarch butterfly would appear, floating and drifting on the breeze.  It unnerved me...but I'd forget about it for another year.

We moved to a new building a few years ago and the butterfly didn't appear. 

Until today.  It was a beautiful day, crisp and clear..and we went outside for a walk. 

Suddenly, something appeared in the corner of my vision.

Get Out The Barf Bag

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE ABUSE

 ad nauseam*

Etymology: L, ad, to; Gk, nausia, seasickness

to the extent of inducing nausea and vomiting.


*definition taken from here.
 
Are you vomiting yet?  Feeling a bit sick to your stomach?  After all, I talk about being abused ALL the time, right?  I mean, why can't I just shut up about it?  Wouldn't everyone feel a lot better not having to hear about me being thrown across the room or molested by my adoptive father?  Shouldn't I be shitting rainbows instead???
 
Sorry, if that's why you're reading my blog, then you've definitely come to the wrong place.  I write about the abuse to help MYSELF.  And if I can help others along the way then FRIGGING GOOD FOR ME AND FOR THEM.
 
I've been quiet this past week, blog-wise anyway.  I'll admit it, after my last post, after I had some time to reflect on what it was that PP2.0 was saying, I was upset.  Maybe that's what she was trying to do...make me feel as bad as she did after she received the Blog of Shame award.  And then I got to thinking, should I stop that particular part of this blog?  Stop calling other bloggers out on their words, trying to get them to think about what they write before they say it? 
 
But along the same vein, do I stop writing about the abuse too?  Make this a different kind of blog than what it started out to be?  I know that I'm not as reflective or articulate as some of my blogging friends...but I never claimed to be.  I'd miss you all but I wouldn't even need a single follower to continue writing, no matter the forum.  Sigh.



What say all of you?  Because at this moment, I'm really at a loss. 

Ummm, What About Adoptees?

This blogger has put out a question to her readers..specifically her adoptive parent readers on what insensitve comments people have made to them and how they respond since there's another side of things apart from what "birthmothers" hear. 

See, there's another side that she doesn't mention.  The adoptees' side.  It's not just natural mothers or adoptive parents who have comments hurled at them that hurt.


And while I know I've blogged about that before, I'm blogging about it again.


For example, after being found by my natural mom, I received comment after comment about how angry I should be that she disrupted my life. They wouldn't ask me how I was feeling about it, just asked, "Oh, how is your mother doing?".  Literally, that was the first thing people said.  Yeah, because my world hasn't just been shaken to the core or anything..::big ass eye roll::.

They say, "How can you love someone who'd just give you up to someone else like that?" but in the next breath say, "Adoption is wonderful for everyone, all of the time". It's hypocritical, don't you think?
"You could have been aborted..isn't it better that you were adopted into a family?" First of all, everyone on the planet could have been aborted. And second of all, yes..I was adopted into a family, but most of the people who say that have no idea of what that family life was like for me or my adoptive sister.

"Aren't you grateful to your parents?" If by grateful you mean that I'm thankful they didn't kill me? Then yes. They had the good grace to keep me alive. But if by grateful you mean that I should be grateful for them saving me from a horrible life with my natural family, then no. I'll never be grateful for that.

"Heritage and biology don't matter..it's love." This irks me too. How many of you have had family tree projects in school? And how many of you have had to lie on those projects and put down names and relations and the countries they came from..only to feel like a fraud after the project was done. And how many of you have had to consistently write "Adopted ~ N/A" on medical forms your entire life because you have no idea what diseases may run in your family.

My adoptive mother once said to me, "Oh, you'd better get that checked out, XYZ runs in our family."

Yeah Mom, about that...

Healing On The Boulder

I'm going to be honest here...therapy sucked tonight.  I'm feeling really shitty and not in a good place at all.

This morning in the shower I had a body memory.  I remembered hearing my mother screaming at me...and how my entire body tensed up, waiting for her to shake me...or slap me.  I put the memory out of my mind and went about my day...or so I thought.  As the day wore on, I felt a massive migraine and the beginnings of a panic attack coming on.  I wanted desperately to cancel my therapy appointment...wanted to just go home and crawl into bed, listening to the hum of the air conditioner.

But I went.

And she had me invite Five to my boulder.  Five was able to throw her scared feelings about our adoptive mother into the water..and after what seemed like an eternity, was able to toss the crap of the screaming and the pain of the stinging hand to the river.

But while her pain dissipated, mine was multiplying...inexplicably I was having a hard time breathing.  My therapist had me try and connect to my Wise Self...trying to help me see that I was safe..and that nothing bad could happen to me on the boulder..but it didn't work.

It felt like there was a wall in front of me, and my chest couldn't expand out enough to take a deep breath.

Suddenly, as my breathing got more and more shallow, I realized why I couldn't breathe. 

When my mother and sister would go off on a shopping excursion, they'd leave me at home with my father.  Not realizing that instead of saving me from a day of walking from one end of the mall to the other, they were leaving me to the Big Bad Wolf.  I'd run from him...and he'd corner me...pressing me up against the wall. 

I began to cry and explained what I was remembering to my therapist.  Gently she guided my thoughts back to the boulder and I threw the panicked feeling of not being able to breathe into the river.

Eventually, the feeling was washed away..and my breathing slowed...inhale..exhale..inhale..exhale..

...but I'm in pain tonight.

Pondering

I've hesitated in writing about my visit with Chris last weekend. Not because it wasn't wonderful, but because of some of the hard emotions that bubbled up to the surface.

It was a blessing to be able to just hang out with her…went out to dinner, giggled, talked, hugged, and giggled some more. And we talked about my adoption. She told me about a boy she dated after she found out about the pregnancy..John. He told her that he'd marry her and raise me as his own…so she wouldn't be alone. Alas, he had issues…assumedly with drugs..and they parted ways before my birth.

I found out that contrary to what I was always told, I was actually born at night..not in the morning.  Not a huge thing, but it bothers me that noone thought it important enough to get it right.

I also found out that noone told her that she had 30 days after having me to change her mind. I couldn't bring myself to ask the burning question that raced like fire through my heart..would she have kept me?

Not that it matters now…my life is what it is. My therapist and I talk a lot about my obsession with the "What ifs" and how it's not helping me heal. But I just can't help it.

I know that everyone has their own list of "What ifs"..and that most of the below items could be one anyone's list…but these are mine…and they hurt to think about.


What if I grew up knowing who I truly was..who I was meant to be?

What if I grew up knowing the unconditional love that a mother has for their child, instead of having to wait until I had my own children?

What if I grew up as Elena Katherine instead of Christina Lynn?

What if I never met any of the wonderful bloggers that I've come to know and love..even the ones that challenge me?

What if I hadn't been mentally abused by my school mates?

What if I hadn't been sexually abused?

What if I was never referred to as a "piece of shit"?

What if I grew up knowing that being sent back wasn't a real possibility?

What if I could look in the mirror and love the person I am?

What if I never had to explain to anyone about why I have two mothers…and why one isn't anymore real than the other?

What if?

New Look...And Ancient Pain

Okay guys, so I'm reeeeeeally technically challenged but managed to figure out how to change my template on Blogger.  What do you think?  I'm not entirely convinced that it'll stay like this but I'll live with it for awhile.

This has been a crap-ass week.  It started last Saturday when Libby's (my Jeep Liberty) battery died.  Sigh.  And continued on with a health scare with my a-mom.  She was having heaviness in her chest and tingling in her arms. 

Now, regardless of the fact that my a-dad was a prick my entire life, he DID die of a massive heart attack so I'm very conscious of my mom's physical health.  Thankfully (in these emergency circumstances anyway) we only live about fifteen minutes away from her so I was able to get her to the emergency room quickly.  She's okay.  All of the tests she had came back okay. 

I have to tell you, it scared the crap out of me.  As much as she drives me nuts and makes me want to tear my hair out, I don't know what I'd do if she passed away.  It'd be easy for me to say "Fuck her!" for all the shit she put me through as a child and even as an adult, but it's a lot more complicated than that.  Even through all the abusive years and the yelling and the screaming..for better or for worse, she's my mother...just as my n-mom is. 

Therapy was craptastic tonight.  Just peachy.  Bawled my eyes out on the way home...realizing more and more how incredibly fucked up I am in the head.  My therapist has this amazing ability to take me to places that I would really rather not revisit.  But I have to.  I have to close my eyes and see my little five year old self and have actual conversations with her...I have even rocked her in my arms and cried with her.  I have talked to the Keeper of the Secrets..my eight year old self.  Tonight I tried to break through the fear and get the Keeper to let me help the littler one, hereafter known as "Five"..but she just stared at me silently in my mind and slowly shook her head...holding Five's hand the whole time.  Sounds crazy doesn't it?  It feels crazy to write it..but it's happened.  Just as the abuse happened.  Fuck.

**ETA...Help!!!  (Did I mention I'm technically challenged???)  Last night when I checked the new blog layout/template, the widgets were on the right hand side of the page..now they are below the posts...how the hell do I fix that???  Anyone??  Anyone????  Bueller???????

Remembering

Therapy was really tough on Tuesday. Really tough. Probably why I've taken to being snarky on some of the blogs I've visited the past few days. Sigh.

I'm remembering more and more about the abuse that I suffered at the hands of my afather. It's not easy to deal with, but I WAS able to finally say that I'm incredibly angry and feel some hatred towards him for what he did. My therapist was really proud of me for getting to that point, but during the session, while experiencing controlled flashbacks, I didn’t feel proud. I felt dirty. Still do. My head feels like it's stuffed with tissues..lightheaded and off balance all the time.

My heart aches for the five year old Christina that was put in that situation. It's strange though…I don't connect with her anymore. It's like I wasn't watching it happen to me. Most likely because, as my therapist has suggested, I disassociated during the abuse. I'm amazed I have ANY memories left of my childhood if that's the case.

"It All Makes Sense Now"

That's what my asister said when I told her about the flashbacks and why I'm in therapy this time.  She knew about when I was in therapy during my early 20's, and that it was because our adad was "inappropriate"..but now that she knows that there was more, she said that it explains a lot about why I am the way I am, and why things have been the way they are for me. 

Phew.

We had lunch on Saturday..something we don't get to do very often without the kids.  I was hesitant to talk to her about what's been going on, but I just had to.  She's the only one who experienced the mental, emotional and physical abuse that I did...and we are getting to the point that we can talk about it openly. 

My amother has put my father on a pedestal now that he's dead.  It's infuriating...and sad.  She had been abused as a child at the hands of her uncle..and then she married an abuser because it's all she knew.  And because of that, I was abused.  I'm sick and tired of hearing how great of a guy he was...NO HE FUCKING WASN'T.  She's got this selective memory about what life was like and I hate that I can't anything to her about it because I'm still afraid of her.  In my mind, I'm still a little girl and need to keep my mouth shut for fear of angering her.

The bureau that my daughter scratched up the other day belonged to my sister, and before that, belonged to my mother.  When I told my mother what Madelyn had done and that she was afraid that everyone was going to hate her when they found out, my mother said, "She's just a little girl...don't get mad at her...it's only a bureau after all".

WHAT THE FUCK???

Now, I certainly didn't react calmly when I saw the bureau, but I sure as hell didn't react like my mother would have if that had been me or my sister when we were nine years old (old enough to know better, by the way).  We would have had the crap beaten out of us and then be made to sit for hours listening to the ranting and swearing...all the while packing our bags in our heads for the guilt trip we were about to imbark on.

I remember one day I had a friend over afterschool.  We were playing in my room and my friend grabbed the afghan that was folded neatly on the bottom of my bed.  For one second, I froze in terror.  I NEVER took the afghan off my bed because I couldn't ever fold it like my mother did.  I decided that there was nothing I could do except fold it somewhat close to how she had it.

My friend left for home and my mother came in my room to drop off my laundry.  And it happened.

"Why did you take the afghan off your bed?"  She said, teeth gritted.

"I didn't, Shannon did...I tried to put it back the right way but..."  I said, cowering in the corner.

"That afghan was made for you by your aunt...don't your friends know how to respect your things??"  Her voice was getting louder...
"Mom, she didn't know...I put it back right away but..."

"Tell Shannon that she's not to come here ever again...not until she can learn how to respect this house...".

The lecture continued for most of the night.  The daggers that flew from my mother's eyes cut through my heart and took a little more of my soul.

I said something about the afghan story to my sister and she said that she remembered that day. 

It was a stupid afghan!  In fact, the very same afghan is currently sitting on my living room floor waiting for my son to come home and claim it before bedtime. 

I just have to shake my head sometimes at the ridiculousness of my childhood...or lack thereof.

It DOES explain a lot though...don't you think?

Enough is Enough

I have a crap ton of work that I need to be doing right now…and zero motivation to be doing any of it. I'm getting a cold, sitting at my desk with a fever and just want to cry.


I'm super emotional…for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that (Warning: If there are any guys in my reading audience, the following will probably constitute as TMI) I just got my period after four months of nothing. Sigh. I guess I'm glad that it finally showed up, but my hormones and emotions have been going haywire lately and it's just all very overwhelming.

My darling daughter decided Saturday that instead of cleaning her room before going to see Cirque de Soleil with my boyfriend's dad, stepmom and stepniece that she'd take a pen and carve random designs into the top of her antique dresser. Found it last night when we were pulling our Christmas stuff out of the attic. Just am at a loss as to how to handle her. She's a great kid, don't get me wrong, but that just threw me right the hell over the edge.

I'm at the point that I feel like boxing up everything in her room except for her clothes and putting them away until she can learn how to respect what she has, and respect us.
Anyone have any suggestions?

My a-sister called me the other day asking what to get the kids for Christmas and mentioned that our mom had called her, worried about me. Amom knows that I'm in therapy, but not why… I told her that I was okay…that I was just working through some stuff..but I think that I might try and get up the courage to talk to my sister about what's been going on.  Definitely not before Christmas though. We just put up the tree and the other decorations and I'm trying desperately to get into the holiday spirit and talking about the abuse and everything else would just send my emotions plummeting.

She Lives....

in my mind's eye.  Guarding the huge wooden doors..pacing back and forth...never speaking, just expressing her emotions through her actions and facial expressions.

Behind those doors are the secrets of my soul.  Secrets that I'm not even privy to..because of Girl. 

Girl's probably about eight years old...dressed in a long white nightgown with flowing dark hair and barefeet.   Piercing eyes pleading with me to leave it alone.  Don't worry about the secrets...Girl will take care of them...forever.

But I am realizing more and more that I need to know what is lurking beyond those doors.  Until I know everything, I can't fully heal.

She offered me a sneak peek into what I am dealing with...through a small window high up on the door.  On tiptoes I look, and see...

Darkness.  Just darkness.  But it's the scariest thing I've ever seen.  Because who knows what could be hiding there.

She shuts the window and shoos me away....and commences her frantic pacing again.

I just am so confused and tired.  Therapy is definitely helping, but I just feel like it's an impossible dream.  To be 'normal'.  I don't know any different way to be except ABnormal. 

What if I do see what's behind the doors and it makes things worse? 

Can I take that chance?

Can I afford not to?

Un-Thanksgiving Like

Been having a hard time lately formulating new posts. Think the holidays are affecting me more this year than usual. I ended up having a nice conversation with my aunt and cousin (adoptive side) on Thanksgiving…finally revealing that I'd been found by my natural mom and family. My aunt cried…asked me all the usual questions…and then, just when I thought I was going to escape unscathed, I got the "How's your mom (meaning my amom) dealing with this?". ::thud::


I'm just so tired of having to censor my words around people…knowing that in the back of their minds, they are more concerned with how my afamily is taking it. Where were you when my father was molesting me?? Where were you when I was awake at 2am listening to the verbal diarrhea that my amother was shooting at me and my asister? Where was your concern then?

Forgive me if I can't feel guilty for my amother anymore about my reunion. I need to be able to rejoice and be happy and not feel bad for it.

I'm NOT grateful that I am adopted…I'm NOT grateful for having the aparents that I was placed with…I was STUCK with them…no one asked my opinion on whom I'd like to grow up with. That choice was taken away from me. I know that my natural mom thought that she didn't have another choice, but I really wish she'd tried. Her mother had even told her that she'd help raise me…but my mom's mind was made up. In her head, she thought that I'd grow up with a mom and dad who wanted children and wanted to love them unconditionally. She wanted me to have the fairytale life that she couldn't offer me. She couldn't have any idea the life that I actually led would be so radically different and…sad. I guess hindsight is 20/20.

The Power of Three

I've split myself. Okay, that might not make sense to you...but to me, it makes perfect sense.

There's "Little Cricket"...the little girl who spent the bulk of her childhood hiding. Trying to stay three steps ahead of her a-mom so that she could say the right things to avoid being yelled at. The little girl who dreaded coming home after school because it was a crapshoot. Either things would be fine, or she'd walk into a minefield...dodging the explosions of an angry woman...or the abuse of a sick man.

Then there's "Wise Cricket". She's the peaceful one. The one who remembers all the 'bad stuff'...and yet remains calm..confident. She's very courageous too. Keeping the secrets until it's time to reveal all. I've never actually met "Wise Cricket"...no one has.

The last is the "Manager". She spends her day running interference between Little Cricket and Wise Cricket. Sometimes Wise Cricket wants to tell her little counterpart all the gory details of the past..wants to pass on the wisdom she's come to acquire after the years of abuse...and it's Manager's job to keep that from happening.

My therapist is trying to help me to change Manager's way of thinking. To let her know that it's safe to pass on Wise Cricket's knowledge...so Little Cricket can heal.

Quote

“In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future.” — Alex Haley

The above quote, found while surfing around Grown In My Heart, really touched me tonight. Because for me, as an adoptee in reunion (it's still weird to say that), I immediately thought of my natural family. They really are the link to my past...and now, as I slowly make my way towards recapturing my place on the family tree, they are the bridge to my future.

Yes, I have my adoptive family. My asister is my best friend...we're like soldiers who have made it through a hard tour of duty...and survived. My amother, while she completely and totally sucked when I was growing up, has slowly realized that she can't push my buttons anymore because I refuse to let her...and that's brought us to an uneasy truce. I love her. I'd be lying if I said I didn't...but can I say that I like her? No. She brings out my worst fears as a mother. I don't EVER want to be the mom that she was. My children deserve more than that. And my afather...he taught me to avoid relationships where the male is the dominant figure...that abuse is NEVER okay...and that I deserve better.

With my natural mother and family, there were no expectations. On either side. When I went down to Delaware in March to celebrate my ngrandfather's 80th birthday, it was the first time I was meeting most of the family in person. And what struck me most was that their claims of loving me all these years were the truth. I WAS thought of...I WAS celebrated...and it really DID feel like I'd just been away at college for a few years. Our reunion was THAT easy...and has given me more peace than I've ever experienced.

I have a tree. And the loving branches of that tree have shaded me from the storm, even when I was scared and alone.

I Told Her

My nmom that is. I told her about the abuse..and what my childhood was REALLY like. She took it like a trooper and was so supportive. Her biggest shock was that my amother had blown off what she'd been told when I was in therapy before. I am so glad we talked..and that I was able to have a Girls' Night at my nmom's and nsister's house.

Yesterday my sister had a bridal shower to attend, so my mother and I drove to the ocean (lol..literally five minutes from their place) and just sat and talked. About everything. I wish that I'd had her when I was growing up to talk to as a daughter should a mother. Regardless of what she thought back then, I think she would have done a really good job. And I feel the loss now more than ever. I'm about to use a word that I've come to hate, but I am very 'grateful' that I have her now in my life...even if it was 34 years late.

She dropped her own bombshell on me yesterday...but it was actually something I already knew and was just waiting for her to tell me. I can't say what it is...but now that she's told me herself, I'm feeling the shock a little more now than I did before it was confirmed.

I do have another therapy session tonight...looks like we have a lot to talk about.

Breathing Deeply

I never like to talk about my demons...really, who does? But I've been doing it...and last night at therapy was a prime example. I'm about to be completely honest here...I have nothing to lose...I had to come clean about the extent of my stuttering.

I don't answer the phone. It goes beyond not wanting to talk to telemarketers...it's more like my body fails me and I can't form the word "Hello". The simplest word and yet, I can't say it. When I say that I can't say the word "Hello", I mean I can't say it when I answer the phone. It feels like my throat tightens and while my mouth might be moving, the sound does not materialize. Sad really. But it's just a quirk that I've dealt with my entire life. Even as a child, I never answered the phone. In fact, I'd pretend not to hear the ringing of the phone to avoid the whole ordeal.

My therapist's feeling is it's the trauma. The trauma of my childhood. The trauma of living with a "selfless, financially and morally stable couple who just wanted to raise children...and with a man who needed to abuse". I'm disgusted that I'm still dealing with this crap in my adult years..but I'm also hopeful. Hopeful that I'll be able to one day not dread the ringing of the phone and to embrace my oddness as being a part of me.

I also apparently have forgotten how to breathe. I was a singer in high school and we were taught to breath through our diaphragms. But once the chorus concerts or musicals were done, I'd forget and go back to my normal chest breathing. The way my therapist explained it to me, I chest breathe because of the whole "fight or flight" instinct I've come to have. Growing up, being scared, I'd hold my breath when things got too crazy of scary. And that caused me to chest breathe. But chest breathing doesn't relax you...only diaphragm breathing does. I've been practicing today...every half hour at my desk, I make myself become conscious of how I'm breathing. One of these days it'll become a habit. A good habit to have for a change.

Jumble-I-Ah

My head is a little busy this morning. Can't seem to settle my thoughts down enough to be able to type about them. I'm definitely jumbled and apparently will need to wait til later to blog about last night's therapy session. It was rough...and it was difficult...but I'm okay.

Tapping Out

Been a difficult weekend. My father's passing was six years ago yesterday and I spend the bulk of my day today at the cemetery planting chrysanthemums at his grave with the kids, my mother and my boyfriend. My feelings this year are not ones of grief though. Suffice to say, I'm going through a lot right now and really, I didn't even want to go to the grave this year..as horrible as that might sound. But I went to make my mother happy...just like I went to the family dinner she wanted to have last night at a restaurant. Sigh. I would have been fine at home with a bowl of macaroni and cheese..but I'm not at the place where I can talk to my mother and sister about what I'm going through.

I'm going back to therapy tomorrow..already. I'm glad though in a way because I know that it's important to keep the momentum going. Did I even tell you how it went at last week's session?? I just looked, and nope...I kept you all in the dark.

My therapist is trying something called EFT therapy with me. It's basically acupuncture, without the needles. There are phrases that are said, while you tap on different points on your body. I know..I was skeptical too..until she had me think of the flashback I had and by the time we'd used the technique several times, my inner reaction to the flashback had changed. I felt..'lighter'. Better than I'd felt in years. I used it again before I went to bed that night and actually slept through the night. Again, I haven't had that happen in years. Maybe it's just a placebo ::shrug:: but even if it is, I'm willing to try anything for some relief from this terrible burden I've been carrying all my life.

Trying To Keep Busy

Work is picking up lately so I haven't allowed myself time to breathe, let alone think. It's good in some ways, but in others..not so much. I just feel really withdrawn and empty right now. I'm functioning, but can feel the old self-loathing emotions battling to be free and it's scaring me.

I don't look in mirrors unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm so disgusted with my weight, and while it'd be easy to start my old habits of purging or starving, I'm trying desperately to avoid that.

My high school years were hell, to say the least. We didn't have a lot of money back then and obviously, clothes weren't high on the list of priorities. I was always wearing hand-me-downs (which would have been fine, had they been from the actual decade I was wearing them in)..and had these hideous plastic glasses from the time I was four years old. My hair was always cut in that ridiculous 'Dorothy Hamil' bowlcut long after it had gone out of style...and I just never fit in.

It sickens me now that I put so much worth in the words of my peers, but as everyone knows, kids can be incredibly cruel once they realize that the person they are bullying is weak. I was weak. And they were cruel. I'd go home and just want to run away. To go live in the woods behind our house because that was the only place I could go where I felt at peace. No one was yelling at me...no one was making fun of the way I looked, or sounded (I stutter when I'm nervous...a lovely after effect of having Reye's Syndrome as an infant..adds to my charm, don't you think?). No one was abusing me when I was in the woods. I was safe.

Next weekend is the sixth anniversary of my father's death. And instead of feeling grief this year...I feel only anger. I don't want to go to the cemetery this year...and play the role of the doting daughter..watching my mother and sister weed the flowers and plant new ones. I don't want to pretend to be sad he's dead because right now...I'm in limbo in regards to my emotions.

WTF.