Tonight we talked...mainly about ways we annoy each other, as we kept doing them.
But we did not argue.
She helped me look for my passport...I have no idea where it is, it was last seen in a manila envelope. Before she went to bed, she noted something:
E:"I am talking in a monotone to avoid triggering you."
HR: "Thanks."
E: "I'm surprised you don't find it kinda creepy."
HR "Gee, I don't. I find it soothing."
E: "Well, I find it kinda creepy."
HR: "I'm trying not to laugh at you."
E: "I'm thinking of Steven Wright."
At this point we broke into Steven Wright jokes, then she went to bed.
I really do love her. Really really...
I just have to find a way to be happy with her, she with me, and all our heaping helping of weird.
I go by Hylierandom. This is a blog about my life. Which might actually be getting better. Some of the posts are going to be really sad and triggery though. Guaranteed to contain lots of brain flakes, which are really nutritious and will help you go to the toilet easily.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Spam!
Biggest news...Friend Squirrel is in a very worrisome state. He's kicked heroin, but the aftereffects are damn near causing him to kill himself daily. He's very ill and I may lose him.
I love him.
I love him perhaps a bit much for someone married.
This has caused me to look at my marriage and realize...holy hell, I really am not getting my needs met here.
I have to figure out how.
Oh, and we're kinda sure the wife has Asperger's...a mild case to be sure. With my severe case of C-PTSD...ohboy.
Complicated.
Oh. I have decided to sprog. Pop out a rugrat. Create mini-me. I am too old to put it off until my life is not going to hell. Having a kid's a stupid idea.
It makes me feel ridiculously happy.
I've started a blog over at a big social-networking site (experienceproject.com) and have become shamefully addicted to being there.
So...I am going to crosspost. I'M SPAMMING MYSELF! BWAHAHA!
BTW, I seem to be doing a lot better now.
I love him.
I love him perhaps a bit much for someone married.
This has caused me to look at my marriage and realize...holy hell, I really am not getting my needs met here.
I have to figure out how.
Oh, and we're kinda sure the wife has Asperger's...a mild case to be sure. With my severe case of C-PTSD...ohboy.
Complicated.
Oh. I have decided to sprog. Pop out a rugrat. Create mini-me. I am too old to put it off until my life is not going to hell. Having a kid's a stupid idea.
It makes me feel ridiculously happy.
I've started a blog over at a big social-networking site (experienceproject.com) and have become shamefully addicted to being there.
So...I am going to crosspost. I'M SPAMMING MYSELF! BWAHAHA!
BTW, I seem to be doing a lot better now.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
weekend
This weekend was...not good.
The wife kept getting angry at me, whatever I said, on Saturday.
By Sunday, she had me totally wigged out.
I just wanted away from her. ..I slept all this weekend because I could get away from her no other way.
I slept so much my butt was sore when I woke up. And I binge-ate.
I took a bunch of 5-htp to try and remain calm, and ended up taking too much...I got nauseous and very sleepy.
I'm still reluctant to get around her.
I feel nervous, numb, sad and feel so very tired and helpless when I think about it.
I'm also thinking about hitting or cutting myself, because I can't get over the feeling I did something to deserve this...and at any rate, self-injury really will clear the cobwebs out like nobody's business.
She does this stuff and I just withdraw, shut down.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
How I'm doing in brief.
Better. My symptoms of depression and PTSD have very much decreased.
I'm feeling okay with myself.
My bestie Squirrel, though...he made a suicide attempt that was not very well planned...and is now a guest of the NHS. I cannot talk to him much in the Nut Hut and miss our daily online BS sessions.
My wife can't seem to clear her chest cold.
She at least has a nicer and fatter paycheck with which to pay the docs.
...I still have too many animals.
I'm feeling okay with myself.
My bestie Squirrel, though...he made a suicide attempt that was not very well planned...and is now a guest of the NHS. I cannot talk to him much in the Nut Hut and miss our daily online BS sessions.
My wife can't seem to clear her chest cold.
She at least has a nicer and fatter paycheck with which to pay the docs.
...I still have too many animals.
Why we keep bring it up-a reposted essay.
So…dragonofjapan said something: “Yes, you were abused, but what are you going to do about it right now?”
So I was thinking about that.
What a lot of abuse survivors do…appears like wallowing. In some cases, it may actually be wallowing…but for most of us…
What it is necessary to do seems counter-intuitive. In order to become a whole person, we have to examine the past in detail. We have to be heard by others. We have to have the feelings we could not allow while we were busy surviving a life-and-death situation. We usually have to fight programming that continually tells us we are worthless; that programming never seems to go away entirely in many cases.
To survive, we had to shut off our emotions, you see, and while that kept us from feeling precisely how abandoned and in danger we were at the time of the abuse…the emotions will remain shut off. In many cases, this leads to profound depression and suicidal thoughts. Too, there are specific brain changes associated with PTSD. Metabolic brain errors are induced by trauma.
( http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/12/091231153341.htm )
So to some degree, those of us who’ve had this kind of damage are never going to be what we could have been without it…and we have to come to a place of acceptance with that.
Our parents basically showed us by their actions, and in most case told us, that we were pretty worthless. Typically there was not a sane reward/punishment system, so we never knew what was going to get the crap knocked out of us. Learned helplessness ensued. We’ve been programmed from a young age that we can’t stop people who were supposed to love us…from hurting us so profoundly many of us want to die. So we have to disassemble…programming that was screamed or beaten or molested or raped into us, and furthermore, the programming was done while our brains were still growing.
I understand some people are able to get over the programming. I suspect I personally am always going to have the random nasty thoughts: you’ll never get that right, you’re worthless, stupid, you can’t do anything right, you’re disgusting, you should just kill yourself now and save everyone from the filth you are.
Fighting the thoughts is just something I have to keep doing.
We really need to hear, like a scratched CD, over and over and over, it was not your fault, you didn’t deserve that, that was crazy, who would do that to a child? Things like that, we really do need to hear them over and over…And I’m sure this looks ridiculous to the non-survivors…When you’re a child and the people you NEED to trust are putting your life at risk...the usual rationalization a small child comes up with is punishment.
“I am bad, this is why mommy whipped me with an electrical cord.” “I was bad, so daddy punched me in the mouth.”
We almost universally blame ourselves for what our out-of-control parents did.
Too, we associate love and trust with being tortured. Some of us seek out relationships that feel familiar. Some of us avoid relationships at all. Some of us are terrified by emotional closeness and do our best to run people off or run away from them. Those of us who have a lack of insight and a dearth of empathy, sadly, may be the ones who take the cycle on another generation.
We need to feel our feelings. We need to cry the tears and scream the outrage that could have gotten us killed. Don’t think it could not have happened in many of our cases. It’s not terrifically hard for someone who’s twice your size to hit you just a little too hard, or knock you into something and accidentally kill you. My dad’s sexual abuse gave me a bladder infection that put me in the hospital, so that sort of thing can happen too-kids’ bodies are really easily damaged.
As adults we run around with canned rage, sadness, terror, and loneliness…and have to slowly work through the feelings…and how they affect our current personality. There are a lot of alcoholics and drug addicts who have resorted to substances that can kill them to avoid feeling the agony that child abuse survivors feel. There are people driven to suicide by this stuff.
So many of us are told things like: “Oh, that’s in the past.” “Why worry about that now?” “Just forgive and forget.” “Get over it!” Well, if we’re having flashbacks…it’s as if it’s happening…right now. But even if we are not having flashbacks at the time, this stuff can often cast a lifelong shadow over our lives.
There’s potential that’s been shaved off our lives, years we will not get back, time and energy spent in healing from the abuse, time and energy spent running away from the abuse mentally, things in our lives we messed up because we did not have our head on straight, relationships that got damaged or destroyed, interior misery we suffered, self-hatred we didn’t deserve, damage we’ve done to our bodies and minds because we hated ourselves and wanted to die.
…So, that’s why we keep talking about this stuff. By talking about it we ARE trying to put it behind us.
Putting abuse behind us does not happen by clicking our heels together three times and saying, "There's no place like sanity, there's no place like sanity."
So I was thinking about that.
What a lot of abuse survivors do…appears like wallowing. In some cases, it may actually be wallowing…but for most of us…
What it is necessary to do seems counter-intuitive. In order to become a whole person, we have to examine the past in detail. We have to be heard by others. We have to have the feelings we could not allow while we were busy surviving a life-and-death situation. We usually have to fight programming that continually tells us we are worthless; that programming never seems to go away entirely in many cases.
To survive, we had to shut off our emotions, you see, and while that kept us from feeling precisely how abandoned and in danger we were at the time of the abuse…the emotions will remain shut off. In many cases, this leads to profound depression and suicidal thoughts. Too, there are specific brain changes associated with PTSD. Metabolic brain errors are induced by trauma.
( http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/12/091231153341.htm )
So to some degree, those of us who’ve had this kind of damage are never going to be what we could have been without it…and we have to come to a place of acceptance with that.
Our parents basically showed us by their actions, and in most case told us, that we were pretty worthless. Typically there was not a sane reward/punishment system, so we never knew what was going to get the crap knocked out of us. Learned helplessness ensued. We’ve been programmed from a young age that we can’t stop people who were supposed to love us…from hurting us so profoundly many of us want to die. So we have to disassemble…programming that was screamed or beaten or molested or raped into us, and furthermore, the programming was done while our brains were still growing.
I understand some people are able to get over the programming. I suspect I personally am always going to have the random nasty thoughts: you’ll never get that right, you’re worthless, stupid, you can’t do anything right, you’re disgusting, you should just kill yourself now and save everyone from the filth you are.
Fighting the thoughts is just something I have to keep doing.
We really need to hear, like a scratched CD, over and over and over, it was not your fault, you didn’t deserve that, that was crazy, who would do that to a child? Things like that, we really do need to hear them over and over…And I’m sure this looks ridiculous to the non-survivors…When you’re a child and the people you NEED to trust are putting your life at risk...the usual rationalization a small child comes up with is punishment.
“I am bad, this is why mommy whipped me with an electrical cord.” “I was bad, so daddy punched me in the mouth.”
We almost universally blame ourselves for what our out-of-control parents did.
Too, we associate love and trust with being tortured. Some of us seek out relationships that feel familiar. Some of us avoid relationships at all. Some of us are terrified by emotional closeness and do our best to run people off or run away from them. Those of us who have a lack of insight and a dearth of empathy, sadly, may be the ones who take the cycle on another generation.
We need to feel our feelings. We need to cry the tears and scream the outrage that could have gotten us killed. Don’t think it could not have happened in many of our cases. It’s not terrifically hard for someone who’s twice your size to hit you just a little too hard, or knock you into something and accidentally kill you. My dad’s sexual abuse gave me a bladder infection that put me in the hospital, so that sort of thing can happen too-kids’ bodies are really easily damaged.
As adults we run around with canned rage, sadness, terror, and loneliness…and have to slowly work through the feelings…and how they affect our current personality. There are a lot of alcoholics and drug addicts who have resorted to substances that can kill them to avoid feeling the agony that child abuse survivors feel. There are people driven to suicide by this stuff.
So many of us are told things like: “Oh, that’s in the past.” “Why worry about that now?” “Just forgive and forget.” “Get over it!” Well, if we’re having flashbacks…it’s as if it’s happening…right now. But even if we are not having flashbacks at the time, this stuff can often cast a lifelong shadow over our lives.
There’s potential that’s been shaved off our lives, years we will not get back, time and energy spent in healing from the abuse, time and energy spent running away from the abuse mentally, things in our lives we messed up because we did not have our head on straight, relationships that got damaged or destroyed, interior misery we suffered, self-hatred we didn’t deserve, damage we’ve done to our bodies and minds because we hated ourselves and wanted to die.
…So, that’s why we keep talking about this stuff. By talking about it we ARE trying to put it behind us.
Putting abuse behind us does not happen by clicking our heels together three times and saying, "There's no place like sanity, there's no place like sanity."
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
I'm baa-aack... :)
Must to stop ignoring blog...
While I was away...I jacked up my intake of 5-htp to 300 milligrams a day. This on top of the 200 milligrams of zoloft and the 60 milligrams of Buspar.
Yes, yes, I worked up to this. Most people on this would be dead of serotonin syndrome by now. I'm finally...ok
Apparently, sinusitis causes depression in two ways: One, inflammatory proteins (Eosinophils) get into the cerebrospinal fluid and break down serotonin.
Two, the body actually produces less serotonin when you're fighting infection...this makes sense for survival reasons...unless you're infected for NINE GOING ON TEN YEARS!
But anyway, so the reason I think the SSRI's kept pooping out one after another is they simply did not have enough serotonin to work with.
Now, they do. Voila. I am almost normal.
Last night I had a flashback...so minor that I wondered...why did I repress this?
It was my dad knocking me to the floor, I think he backhanded me. He was righthanded, the hit was on the right side...so assumption would be he hit me with the dominant hand.
So I was knocked to the floor, and my teeth cut the inside of my mouth. I started to bleed, and my face swelled on that side.
The next thing I remember is him dabbling at my face with an icecube wrapped in a washcloth, looking...worried and angry. I was frightened.
Extrapolating now, as an adult:
-I ordinarily got to run away and hide after he hit me, he prevented me from doing this this time.
-It confused me, because he never comforted me after he hit mebefore
-He wasn't doing it to be kind.
-I now realize he was trying to hide it from mom.
-I wonder if I repressed more physical abuse...this comes as a surprise.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
At this point...
I had a bit of a breakthrough last week...I cried for three hours, off and on.
By the way, I can drive and cry...shop and cry, find my car in a garage and cry, make coffee and mourn my childhood, do my job while mourning the indefinable something in me that died and is gone.
Who knew I had this talent for multitasking.
So I posted the following in a few places:
By the way, I can drive and cry...shop and cry, find my car in a garage and cry, make coffee and mourn my childhood, do my job while mourning the indefinable something in me that died and is gone.
Who knew I had this talent for multitasking.
So I posted the following in a few places:
I told my friend Squirrel, and meant it...that he is beautiful...this after he said he was an irresponsible wreck with bad habits I'd be better off without.
He's a fellow survivor (of physical, emotional abuse, neglect, and sexual abuse as well). And my heart just broke open, I guess, because I can see he is beautiful...because I know all that he has lived through, the tragedy his life has been so far...and he keeps trying, he keeps living and hoping...and when the waterworks really started is when I realized that probably meant I was beautiful too...
I was this little girl made out of love and I was shattered inside. But I still try to live, I still love, I still trust though everything in me screams how dangerous it is. Maybe I'm beautiful too, because I fall down and get up again, a thousand times. Because I am in agony and I keep going, keep trying, keep wanting to love and help other people though I'm not very good at it, I'm not very good at anything, but maybe there's beauty in just the act of continuing to try.Maybe I am good and true and beautiful and precious even though I feel the absolute opposite.
Maybe we're all beautiful. Maybe we can all live again. No matter how badly it hurts to get there.
So...I cry every day, but am feeling better.
Soon, I shall tell you about my fun-filled Monday morning in which I got a pap smear.
People look at you funny when you curl up in a corner and shake...
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