So much has happened. I haven't posted here in forever because frankly I felt tired of complaining. I feel that complaining is all I do here and I wanted to end the cycle. Because I was tired of complaining, I didn't know what to write about anymore. There was no urge to write.
The urge to write isn't back. It's just I had to voice something. I am completely devastated. My daughter is now living with her father. She moved out two weeks ago. I still cannot believe it.
Every day is an effort to continue. Every day something happens in a negative way and I have gotten numb to it. I want to stop this cycle of negativity. I want to stop the tragedies. I want to stop the bad news. I want to stop the depression and loneliness. I want to stop the blame and the shame and the anger and the confusion. I want to stop everything. I want to stop my life.
I'm surprised I'm not dead or in a hospital.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Everything is Falling Apart
Posted by Chunks of Reality at 10:36 PM 9 comments
Labels: Angry, Bankruptcy, Cried, Daughter, Depression, Despair, Disgust, Drama, Failure, Family, Finances, Hospital, Husband, Sexual Abuse, Suicide, Work
Thursday, September 3, 2009
At an Impasse
I bought another pack of cigarettes even though I threw away the other pack I had last week. I've had a few of them and am sick of smoking them. I hate the smell of them, hate the way I smell after smoking them and while smoking them wonder what the hell I'm doing. I just had a cigarette at lunch and am back at my desk wanting to throw the pack away. Why do I keep doing this? I guess it boils down to cravings and felt I had to have a cigarette and bought a pack. I just realized while typing this. I lack discipline. This is why it's good to blog. You sometimes realize things about yourself while seeing it typed out or visitors to your blog realize it for you.
I wasn't hungry today at all and got lunch anyway. I had a salad because I thought I would probably get hungry by the afternoon and then would be stuck. I should have not eaten a darn thing. Now I am so full I feel sick and once again realize that I lack discipline.
I am getting bigger and bigger and bigger. My clothes are restricting while I refuse to buy larger ones. I look like a whale shark. I feel like a stuffed pig. Just give me an apple to stick in my mouth and call it a day. It will suit my physique just perfectly.
Two days ago I mowed the front and back yard. My muscles are still complaining from it. This morning I could hardly get out of bed and walk because my muscles were screaming with pain. That is how out of shape I am....I can't even cut the grass.
My knees hurt while walking and I get out of breath. I am getting hot all of the time because of the stores of fat all over my body. I feel like I breathe heavily while sitting because my lungs don't have enough room to expand with all the fat cells squashing them down. Even my eyelids are fat.
While typing this I got a granola bar out and am munching it. I'm full! I don't need it! But yet I do. The more I talk about my weight the more I want to eat. I just want to eat until I'm so full I pop and this shit is finally over.
It's funny really because I normally don't eat a lot at all. I'm not one of those comfort food eaters. I don't eat candies, chips or cookies. I don't eat granola bars. It's just lately I am so focused on my weight that I feel like an alien to myself and for some reason want to eat. It reminds me of my days of bulimia. When I was a teenager I would eat loads of food and vomit it up so that I could eat more. I would eat 10 bowls of cereal, throw up and eat 10 more, throw up, eat 10 more, etc. until all of the cereal in the house would be gone. I was skinny then. The only difference now is that I'm not making myself throw up. I want to, but I don't let myself get into the cycle because it was so difficult to stop before. Yet, I am sorta in that cycle, really.
I am going to weigh myself. It's been a while. There are scales in the building. Be right back....
I am back, huffing, puffing and wheezing because I actually walked. Went to the scales and found that I'm 253.2 pounds, which is 114.9 kilos or 18.09 stone for the Brits out there. The scales are located beside the vending machines and I stopped and purchased some peanut M&M's and a peanut butter Moon Pie. I never eat that shit, but today I will. Why not? I thought I was 260, and I'm actually seven pounds less than that, so by all means I need to eat! Even though I feel like I could vomit, I'm going to pack this shit in anyway.
Wow, while typing I'm getting really angry. Curious. I usually don't get angry. I am the depressed, emo type who just cries. Not now...I could smack the shit out of something at the moment.
You know, at least it's food I guess. If I was a drug user, I think tonight you would find me a lot like DJ AM who just died with 8 OxyContin not even all the way dissolved in his stomach, the ninth one still in his mouth, not even swallowed, laying on a bag of weed with a crack pipe beside him. At least he was skinny. Maybe I need to switch to drugs. What would my drug of choice be? I hate feeling out of control of my body, so which one would it be...hmmmm....
This peanut butter Moon Pie tastes like shit, but I'm going to eat it anyway. I should wash it down with a Mountain Dew or milkshake if I had one.
OK, just finished the Moon Pie and on to the M&M's! I'm not a big chocolate eater. I like dark chocolate, but don't eat a lot of it. M&M's I only eat them if going to the movies.
What the fuck am I doing?
Now the wimp is coming back and I want to cry. I'm no longer angry. I am lost. I don't know who I am. I am barely chewing the M&M's...just swallowing them to get it over with. I want to go to bed. I don't want to go to bed. I want to die. I don't want to die. I want to be a thousand pounds and not be able to get out of my house without a forklift breaking down a wall and getting me. I want to be skinny.
I want and want and want and want while increasingly becoming more empty inside. Nothing can fill this emotional chasm.
Friday, July 17, 2009
And So....
I found a job and started work this past Monday. I worked there two and a half years ago and it was the place where I ended up in the psychiatric hospital. It feels pretty surreal to be back there.
My nephew is here from France along with his friend. My house has been full of teens for two weeks. Sunday we go to the beach for a week. I can't wait. It's my parents timeshare and they gave us a week to go. I am very thankful to them for that.
This past week was spent in training. I go to the beach for a week, which isn't bad at all.
My marriage is a mess.
My husband is mentally ill.
I am fighting depression. It hasn't claimed me yet.
My husband isn't going to the beach with us. He wants to be alone. He says that what he's going through isn't my problem. I really don't know what to think.
Some days I feel we will be divorced soon.
Every day he tells me that he wants to kill himself.
I haven't been able to blog. I have a Facebook account and every once in a while post statuses. Other than that, the creative juice isn't flowing and so I am silent.
I was out of work for eight weeks. I am behind in my mortgage and car payment.
My best friend from high school tried to kill herself. She has four children and I helped out with them while she was in the hospital. She just got out today. She is going to the beach with us. I hope that it will help her.
I am a fat cow. I have gained more weight and now weigh 250. My husband doesn't want to have sex with me. He says that it has changed the sexual experience. Don't get me wrong...I realize I am ugly and fat. I wouldn't want to have sex with myself....but it still hurts my feelings and I still get horny and frustrated and feel even more ugly.
Enough of that....
I am trying to go forward in my life. I am trying to appreciate everything and have gratitude. I am trying to make my marriage work. I am trying to help my daughter navigate the murky waters of her late teenage years. I am trying to try.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Suicidal Ideation
I have 40 Ambien in the drawer beside my bed. It's there for no reason. I don't take many Ambien lately anyway unless I am having problems sleeping. So it just sits there unless I need it. I never think about it unless it's time to fill the prescription again before it runs out, so lately the amount of Ambien increases every month.
Until this morning.
Why would I think about that bottle this morning?
I was laying in bed feeling bad from the cold crud stuff I have and hating the fact that I had to get up and get ready to go to work. I just needed one more day to recuperate. I laid in bed and was so sad thinking about how I had to work. I wished that I could stay in bed and take care of myself. Then my mind went further and started thinking about how tired I am of getting up each morning to attend this event called life. I am tired of it all.
Am I depressed thinking this?
Not at all. I don't feel depressed.
I'm just tired.
So, I thought out just downing the bottle. Then I remembered that I needed to write letters to my daughter and husband. Maybe my parents as well.
I had pretty much decided to do it and then realized that my daughter would be the one to find me, so instead I got up out of bed, got ready and went to work.
I am now back home and am tired. Physically I feel more sick with cold grunge I've had and my head feels like it's going to pop off.
Isn't it strange to have these thoughts when I'm not going through a depressive episode? What the hell is my problem?
I can't imagine another 40 years of this shit.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Spoiled Rotten
Friday, January 16, 2009
Prozac and Sunshine
I haven't been to work all week and no work has been done from home. I've been in the bed and not able to get out. I've slept the sleep of the dead. Unfortunately, I am still alive.
Today I went to the doctor. I had an appointment at 11:30am and missed it due to being asleep. I woke up at noon realizing it was missed, called the doctor's office and thankfully they took me in at 4:15pm. I actually made it on time.
Once again I face my doctor looking like complete shit while telling him I can't take this anymore. I am tired of this unending cycle plaguing my life. I cry off and on like an idiot. Told him how up to this point there have been issues sleeping. I either don't sleep at all or sleep too much. Told him of going through a cycle where I could hardly sleep for a few weeks and now I can't get out of bed. My depression is in full-force right now and I can't see past it. I may lose my job. I listened to a message on my voice mail from my supervisor where you can hear in her voice that she has basically lost patience with me. She warned that it was looking bad to others that I haven't been into work and that people are talking. When I finally do get better and IF I still have a job, it will be difficult to go and face these people.
My doctor said that I need sunshine. Sunshine will help the vitamin D in my body and regulate my sleeping.
He took a bunch of blood to test later and also added Prozac to my daily RX. I'm already taking Wellbutrin and he wants me to continue taking that along with Prozac.
Let's just throw medication to the problem.
The doctor has lost patience, I think. He said that if the Prozac doesn't work he thinks I need to see a psychiatrist who is more specialized. I explained how my insurance is severely lacking in the mental health arena and that I could see him every day and only pay a copay while I could never afford a psychiatrist.
My last post should have been a red flag to me. I should have realized then that I was about to hit the downward spiral. I haven't felt well since the last post. Thank you everyone for your kind comments. I just can't talk very well in times like this and that is why I haven't posted a response to your comments. Two of my friends from high school wanted to meet for dinner together this weekend. I ended up calling one of them after they texted a message saying, "Have you fallen off the face of the earth?" because I never called her back. I ended up crying on the phone with her. It's so embarrassing.
One bright spot today is that the nurse at the doc's office told me about a good therapist. I called after the doctor's appointment out of desperation and she charges only $60 an hour. I am shocked. The lowest I had found so far is $110 for 45 minutes! I will visit her this upcoming Thursday after work...That is if I still have a job left.
I have an interview this upcoming Tuesday. If things don't change fast I'm not going to do very well.
Maybe I should sit in the sunshine.
Sheesh.
Since I did just have my period my doc did give a prescription for a birth control pill that you take for three months straight and only have your period once a quarter. That should help because I always crash with my period. Sometimes worse than others and this is a pretty bad one.
I realize I am doing better today though because at least I was able to get my fat ass in the car and drive to the doctor and I'm also blogging about it. During the worst of it I can't even blog.
When I think about losing my job I literally cannot breathe. I am the breadwinner and if I lose my job I'll be up shit-creek. That will be one more thing and I can't handle even thinking about it. I still haven't contacted the company that served papers, either, by the way.
This is one upside-down post. I apologize.
Posted by Chunks of Reality at 7:31 PM 24 comments
Labels: Anxiety, Bankruptcy, Cried, Depression, Despair, Disgust, Failure, Frustrated, Sadness, Sleeping, Suicide, Tired
Sunday, December 7, 2008
The Claws are Ever Tighter and I Cannot Get Rid of Them
It's back. Depression has its desperate claws edged on the tip of my soul. I can feel its dripping maw near my neck and it makes it difficult to breathe. It encircles me and gags me and I try to accept that it's there and acceptance is futile. During my good times I think I have accepted the fact that I have depression. When it comes to remind me that I have it, the overwhelming feeling of "Again?" rushes my senses and I am quieted.
I have felt it all week. I tried to pretend that it wasn't there. I tried to do things. Instead I have slept. A lot. I am always embarrassed to admit this. Horribly embarrassed.
I missed work. Quite a bit of it.
Today I was finally able to get myself out of the house and met a friend from high school. We recently reunited. It was wonderful to see her. Though it was very nice to spend time with her, I grew tired. I literally yawned. Several times. She even noticed and commented. I yawned even though I've slept most of the week. When I wasn't asleep I tried to pretend that I was fine. I was merely having some type of strange, extended vacation that I never requested beforehand. Though I slept all day, every day this past week, when my daughter got home from school I would wake up and act like I had been working from home all day. I was in my pajamas. I hadn't brushed my teeth yet. My hair was disheveled. I don't know if she believed me. Monday and Tuesday she asked why I was home. I lied and told her that I worked from home. For the rest of the week she didn't ask anymore. She's a smart girl. I'm sure that she realizes.
My work thinks that I had strep and stomach problems. I hate lying like that.
In this economy and also considering that I am a contractor, I am worried about losing my job. They already have a hiring freeze on software developers. They are flying contractors from India by the plane load and paying them nothing while giving them apartments where they shack up four and five to a two-bedroom apartment. They have no car and walk back and forth to work and the grocery store. They have no life. They are happy to be here. They are hard workers. They get paid next to nothing. I can easily be replaced. The company would save money. I don't know why they haven't done it already. It does disgust me though because these highly intelligent people from India are trying to find their American Dream and are being paid next to nothing. They need to be paid like everyone else, if not more because they work so very hard.
I have not worked hard this past week. I slept hard. When I was awake and acting like I was working from home I was reading other people's blogs until my eyes closed. I tried to blog and act like everything was OK. It hasn't been. Why do I act like everything is OK on my blog when this is the place where I can say exactly how I feel and not worry about it? I have thought about that and think it's because if I talk about my bad moments in those bad moments I have to accept that I have major and chronic depression. I can't run away from that fact and I certainly can't hide because depression always finds me.
I seriously cannot imagine being like this for the rest of my life. Typing that sentence makes me cry. How do people live like this? Will it ever get better? I have had depression my entire life, yet I have to say it gets worse with age. Not better. Worse. Worse and more worse. It is overwhelming to think about.
It is times like this that I truly want to die. Would I call that being suicidal? Not really because I'm not acting on it. Is it life that I want to end? Yes, if life is like this. I also realize on a rational level that I will get better again, it doesn't rain all day every day and I will not want to end my life when the sun peeks out to shine on my day. Like all people who think about suicide, I just want to end the pain and despair. It becomes all too much at times.
If I wasn't for my daughter I know that I wouldn't be here. I would be dead. She keeps me going when I cannot. She doesn't realize this and she should never realize this, but it's just the truth.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Have You Ever Seen a Fat Anorexic?
Here is the post that I've been dreading to write for a while. Why have I been dreading to write it? Because it's about a subject that a lot of people don't want to face much less proclaim to the world. I'll make a very long story short. I'm fat. There you go.
What's strange to me is not the fact that I'm fat. What's odd is that I used to be anorexic/bulimic years ago. Have you ever heard of a fat anorexic? Well, now you have because here I am.
Let's go back in time a bit. My mother grew up in a household where weight was discussed like the weather. Her adopted mother who we called "Aunt Jessie" always had sweet stuff laying around the house and would have the audacity to tell Momma that she was fat when she was a little girl. Don't get me wrong...Aunt Jessie was a very good woman and really took care of Momma and me, for that matter. She just had a hang-up about weight and would tell the world what she weighed when no one could care less. I remember one time going to an ice cream shop with her and her telling the morbidly obese guy behind the counter that he "must eat a lot of ice cream around here to look like that". She said that right to his face. I could have died it was so embarrassing and I felt so bad for the guy. She could be vicious about weight, that's for sure.
Momma told me a story about when she was little Aunt Jessie used to make clothes for her and one day made striped pants. The stripes were vertical except for the stripes across the butt in the back. They were horizontal and really made my Mom embarrassed because she felt it made her behind look larger that it actually was. I remember one time Aunt Jessie telling me that my butt was a shelf because it was so big you could set a pie on it.
Did I tell you that Aunt Jessie weighed 113 pounds? She would spin in her grave if I didn't mention that. Also note that she was about 5 foot 4 inches tall. So, she was pretty petite anyway whereas Momma is about 5 foot 10 inches and even if she starved herself could never be called "petite".
When I was a little girl I remember all of the diets Momma went on. The cabbage soup diet, grapefruit diet, Fiber Trim, blah, blah, blah. I wanted to emulate her and so I would go on all of the diets with her. I remember when she was very active physically and would work out all of the time and took so many diet pills and supplements her hand could hardly hold all of the pills she swallowed in the morning. I remember being seven years old and crunching ice cubes all day for days because I didn't want to gain weight. I ate ice cubes and nothing else until I got so hungry I ate the house down.
As a teenager eating the house down wasn't very good because I really noticed my weight then. Eating the house down also made me feel guilty that I had eaten so much and so I started purging the food I ate. I don't remember doing it for the first time. I don't remember how I even had the idea to do it. I just know that it was something that I did for years. I would go through periods of starvation only to follow it up with binging and purging. I was never happy while doing it because I thought I looked like an obese monster when looking into the mirror. I was always on the quest to lose that "last five pounds". It was never ending.
While eating dinner with my parents, I would take some of my food and hide it in my napkin and throw it away when they weren't looking. They never had a clue until that fated day Momma walked in the bathroom while I was about to step into the bathtub. She said that she saw my back and was horrified when seeing all of the bones sticking out. She said she knew then that I had a problem.
The next day after eating dinner, I excused myself to the bathroom as I always did to purge and Momma stopped me asking where I was going. I told her that I needed to use the bathroom and she went off asking what I planned to do in there. Of course I lied saying that I just needed to go to the bathroom and she asked if I was going to throw up. I told her of course not while starting to cry and then the drama really started that night. There was a lot of screaming and crying and the last words to me was that she was taking me to a counselor. I told her that there was no way that I would go and stomped out of the room. I was 16 at the time.
A few Saturdays later Momma asked if I wanted to go shopping and I said, "Sure". Before I knew it we were downtown in front of a brick office building. It was a psychologist's office and I was completely pissed off. I told her that I wouldn't talk at all and we walked inside. At the end of the hour I was talking.
I went for a year.
Thinking back to that time in my life, I still can't believe that the sexual abuse Momma had just found out about when I was 16 was never mentioned to the counselor. She always told the psychologist that I had issues with my biological father not having anything to do with me and that I was angry because of it. She never talked about her issues with weight either.
Starvation, binging and purging was a great way for me to feel in control of my life because believe me, I felt I had no control over anything and never did. Sexual abuse started when I was two years old and continued throughout the years and by different people. Sure, I was very upset about my biological father not wanting anything to do with me. I still have issues with rejection as an adult. I just wish that the psychologist would have talked with me about everything. I wish Momma had told him everything. Maybe I would be better off now.
Here are a few pictures of when I was in high school in the tenth grade. Please note the terrible short haircut. That is an entire story to itself. Well, I'll go ahead and tell it. When I was little (under five years old), I would always go to bed with bubble gum in my mouth. A lot of mornings my hair would be in knots with sticky gum that my Mom went nuts over. She would use butter, oil, etc to try and get the gum out. At night she would check my mouth for gum and I would hide it in my mouth saying I didn't have any. The next morning more gum was in my hair. Momma got really angry and said that if I go to bed with gum in my mouth one more time she was going to cut my hair and I would never be allowed to have long hair as long as I lived in her house. The next morning I woke up with gum in my hair and she chopped it off. Momma always had very short hair (above her ears) and she made me have short hair until I moved out. I was never allowed to grow it again while living with her.
At least she was consistent, I guess, but it really burns me up still just thinking about it. Needless to say my hair is longer as an adult.
Anyway, here are some pics.


This was taken on "Career Day". My friends and I decided that we would have a construction company and dressed the part. I am the short-haired with a sharp as hell chin jutting out (always hated my chin) sitting on the end.
This picture was taken after high school and after I had "graduated" from the psychologist. My hair was finally starting to grow out (I had moved out from my parents) but I still had braces. My friend Elaine had done my hair and makeup that night. We were so proud...it makes me giggle to see that picture. I had dinner with her the other night. It was wonderful to see her again after so long.
I'm sure that you all have seen the following pictures.They are my favorite ones:
OK, this is what I looked like more recently. It is so embarrassing to show all of these photos:
This is me and my husband.
I look like a tub of lard sitting on that couch in my husband's studio. I am sitting beside my very sweet mother-in-law and friends of my husband who visited from Amsterdam.
Since these pictures I've gained about ten more pounds. I am now at a whopping 230 pounds (standing at 5 foot 8 inches). Last year I had gotten all the way to 250 which is the most I've ever weighed in my life. I lost 40 pounds while stopping smoking, but over time I've gained a little back.
So, how does an anorexic/bulimic become fat? It happens over time and it happens when you don't look at yourself. What I mean about not looking at yourself is that I literally don't look at myself. When needing to wear makeup, I focus only on what makeup I'm putting on. If it's eye makeup, I look at my eye, not my entire face and so on.
I learned to stop starving/binging/purging with my psychologist years ago, but I never learned how to effectively lose weight without obsessing about it. I've always been afraid that if I really start trying to lose weight I'll become obsessed and start purging again. I don't want to start that cycle ever.
Last year when losing 40 pounds I completely changed the way I ate and it worked. What I need to do now is start exercising. That is one thing I don't do and have a job where I sit the entire day (and sometimes evening) behind a computer not moving. I've done that for years and it really doesn't help.
If you haven't noticed, I've made two goals for myself and posted it on my blog. One goal is easy...lose 10 pounds. The other goal is the overall goal of losing 70 pounds. Hopefully it will help. We shall see.
If you've actually read all of this, thank you for listening. I'm glad I didn't create another blog for weight loss because really....this problem is part of who I am and is something that bothers me A LOT.
I feel so very ugly and seeing myself in the pictures today really makes me feel out of control. I was shocked by the last pictures because guess what? I have never really looked at them.
I feel really bad right now even talking about it. I'm going to take a break from all this writing.
Take care, everyone.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Could I Possibly Have Borderline Personality Disorder?
In my last post, Untreatable left a comment stating that what I was describing could also be BPD, or Borderline Personality Disorder. I was shocked when I read his comment. I never thought about BPD. Never. So, I went to Wikipedia and read the following about BPD. I was once again shocked at how much resonated with me when reading the Wikipedia article.
Below I will copy and paste parts of the article with my comments.
"Disturbances suffered by those with borderline personality disorder are wide-ranging. The general profile of the disorder typically includes a pervasive instability in mood, extreme "black and white" thinking, or "splitting", chaotic and unstable interpersonal relationships, self-image, identity, and behavior, as well as a disturbance in the individual's sense of self."
Wow! This really got to me. My moods go up and down and the cycle never goes away. AND I have been known to have black and white thinking since I was a child. As I get older things have become more gray, but yes I have had this. My sense of self is pretty poor. I don't have much self-esteem AT ALL. I don't have much self-worth either. My self-image is nonexistent. My identity feels lost at times. This is one of the reasons why I started this blog...to find myself and discover who I am. I have felt lost for a long time.
In extreme cases, this disturbance in the sense of self can lead to periods of dissociation. These disturbances have a pervasive negative impact on many or all of the psychosocial facets of life. This includes the ability to maintain relationships in work, home, and social settings.
I have been able to maintain relationships in all aspects of my life and I have not experienced dissociation that much in my life other than certain times which I will discuss more in depth soon.
The most consistent finding in the search for causation in the disorder is a history of childhood trauma, although some researchers have suggested a genetic predisposition.
Yes, I have experienced trauma as probably most everyone has at some point in their life. Most of the trauma occurred during childhood. Regarding genetic predispositions, bipolar, depression and who knows what else is all over my family tree on both sides. Depression runs through our veins like water. Many family members on both sides were/are alcoholics and/or drug addicts which in my opinion shows that they had/have some type of mental thing going on which they tried/try to medicate with drugs and alcohol.
A DSM diagnosis of BPD requires any five out of nine listed criteria to be present for a significant period of time. There are thus 256 different combinations of symptoms that could result in a diagnosis, of which 136 have been found in practice in one study. The criteria are:
1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. [Not including suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5]
I would not say that I have had "frantic" efforts, but I always felt abandoned by my biological father. He left when I was two years old. My parents got divorced. I rarely saw him. It was a mixture of pleasure and pain when I saw him because he is bipolar and his moods were quite erratic. He was physically violent, beat my mother when they were married and I also remember him hitting me in the head which knocked me back into a couch. My head swelled and when he realized what he did he then put ice packs on my forehead and cried for three hours apologizing for what he had done. He told me then that he was beaten by his father as a child and was even whipped with chains. He just kept saying, "I'm so sorry....I love you" over and over again. It was surreal. I was 10 years old.
I also remember that same summer when he beat up his third wife (he has been married five times so far) and I heard her screaming in the apartment. In a rage he then ran after me and my step-brother around the apartment, cornered us in the bedroom we shared and and tore the room apart. He threw everything on us including the mattress and bed frames.
When I became older I found out that Jim had raped three underage girls in his late teenage years and early 20's. The last time I know that he raped a girl was when he was married to my Mom and he picked up a hitchhiker and took her back to the house while Momma was working and chained her to the bed. He then raped her and kicked her out of the house. She was an African-American underage girl who had a very poor family. No charges were filed.
The other two times he raped a girl, my grandfather had to sell things in order to have money to pay the families off so they wouldn't go to the police. Imagine receiving money when your daughter was raped and being OK with that. I just cannot.
I found out that after he raped his cousin (he was 18 while she was 6), his father took him behind the barn and whipped him with chains. The person who told me this never knew that Jim told me he was whipped with chains when I was 10 years old. This person told me when I was in my 20's and the two stories matched. I finally understood why he was whipped with chains. Afterwards the family acted like nothing happened and the cousin had to continue going to their house every weekend.
Jim was a womanizer and cheated with every person he had a relationship wit and was into drugs and alcohol big-time. While in the Coast Guard after I was born, a drug raid occurred in the apartment where we lived. A "friend" of his who was an undercover policeman did the raid and Jim was sent to jail. My Mom and I went to live with her adopted parents.
Wow, I'm talking a lot about Jim, but even writing about this spurs on more memories and I feel the need to get them out. Maybe it will be good for me. I really don't know. I will talk about all of these things because at this point I will try anything to get better.
I was terrified of Jim. He had a HUGE temper and you never knew when it would go off. When he was a teenager he would become so angry so fast that he would start hyperventilating. They would have to put a bag over his head so that he wouldn't pass out.
Jim was also VERY charming and could make you feel like you were the only person left in the world. He could make you feel so very loved and special and bam, you are on the floor after he exploded for a minimal reason.
My grandfather (on my Mom's side) used to say that he couldn't believe a thing that came out of Jim's mouth. He said that if Jim told him the sun was shining that he would have to walk outside to see for himself because he was such a liar.
I am used to being rejected and because of that, recently I am going through a stage with my daughter where I am scared she will not have anything to do with me when she gets older. She is 15 now and I've been having a difficult time with it even to the point of crying while my imagination runs wild with thoughts of her possibly rejecting me later in life.
2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.
Not really sure about this one. I have had intense relationships, but I don't have a pattern of them. When I see the word "idealization", I feel it fits because I have always been very idealistic.
3. Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.
Yes, all the time.
4. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., promiscuous sex, eating disorders, binge eating, substance abuse, reckless driving). [Again, not including suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5]
I was HIGHLY impulsive as a child, but have gotten much better over time. I was bulimic/anorexic in my teen years and had to go to a psychologist a little over a year to get help. It's ironic because I would look at myself in the mirror back then and see a HUGE, fat blob. I never realized how thin I became. At my worst stage I had gotten to the point where I could hardly eat without throwing up. I would binge eat as well as starve myself. I remember eating an entire box of cereal at a time, going to the bathroom to throw it up and then eating another box of cereal and repeating the cycle.
The only substance abuse I have had is cigarettes. I smoked for 19 years. I started when I was 17. What I never talked about in this blog is that about nine months ago I quit smoking cold turkey. It was very difficult. I'm drinking a cup of hot tea while writing this and yes, I would love a cigarette still.
Hmmm...reckless driving...well, every day I drive to work at around 80 mph while the speed limit is 60. Is that considered reckless or normal? I am hyper-aware while doing it and am watching all of the time. Also, most of the time I don't wear a seatbelt. After being hit by a train at 17 while in my car and my seatbelt broke I just felt like they weren't all they are cracked up to be. Is that reckless or normal to not wear a seatbelt?
Promiscuous sex...Yes, I had a lot of that in my 20's. I think the reason for that though is because of things that have happened over time. I'll get into that later.
5. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, threats, or self-mutilating behavior such as cutting, interfering with the healing of scars, or picking at oneself.
Though I have never been a cutter, I think about suicide quite a bit. I have since I was a child.
6. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).
Yes, that has happened throughout my life.
7. Chronic feelings of emptiness, worthlessness.
YES, all of the time. I have felt worthlessness and have felt empty since childhood.
8. Inappropriate anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights).
Never. This is more of a "Jim thing".
9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms
No, never. I have never been paranoid, and the only time I have had dissociative episodes is during specific times which I will get into later.
Studies suggest that individuals with BPD tend to experience frequent, strong and long-lasting states of aversive tension, often triggered by perceived rejection, being alone, or perceived failure.
Unfortunately, yes.
Individuals with BPD can be very sensitive to the way others treat them, reacting strongly to perceived criticism or hurtfulness.
Yes, I have always been sensitive to this, but it has never been debilitating or really caused stress on relationships with others. However, lately I've noticed that I am much more sensitive to things and quickly feel like someone is criticizing me when they probably aren't like I think they are. Actually, recently feeling this way prompted me to really start researching what the heck is going on because I do not want to be like this forever. I feel like I'm changing in a bad way and I have to stop it now.
They tend to view the world generally as dangerous and malevolent, and themselves as powerless, vulnerable, unacceptable and unsure in self-identity.
I have never viewed the world as being dangerous or malevolent. In fact, I am a very trusting person and as others have said, quite naive (I'm tired of being called naive, actually). I always give others the benefit of the doubt and feel that the world and all the people in it are essentially good and if they are not, then something is wrong with them that they cannot help.
I have felt unsure in my identity and I have felt vulnerable at times as well.
Individuals with BPD are often described, including by some mental health professionals (and in the DSM-IV), as deliberately manipulative or difficult, but analyses and findings generally trace behaviors to inner pain and turmoil, powerlessness and defensive reactions, or limited coping and communication skills.
No, I'm not manipulative or difficult. In fact, I'm too easy and what I mean by that is rather than being difficult, I cater to the other persons needs and not my own. I do not like conflict. I do not have limited coping and communication skills. I can be very blunt and say what is on my mind at times.
Numerous studies have shown a strong correlation between childhood abuse and development of BPD. Many individuals with BPD report having had a history of abuse, neglect, or separation as young children. Patients with BPD have been found to be significantly more likely to report having been verbally, emotionally, physically, and sexually abused by caretakers of either gender. They were also much more likely to report having caretakers (of both genders) deny the validity of their thoughts and feelings. They were also reported to have failed to provide needed protection, and neglected their child's physical care. Parents (of both sexes) were typically reported to have withdrawn from the child emotionally, and to have treated the child inconsistently. Additionally, women with BPD who reported a previous history of neglect by a female caretaker and abuse by a male caretaker were consequently at significantly higher risk for being sexually abused by a noncaretaker (not a parent).
Yes, yes and yes. I was sexually abused from the ages of two to eighteen years old. The last time I was raped was when I was 27. Childhood abusers were all babysitters. Male and female, African-American and Caucasian.
Do you have that first memory of life? My earliest memory was when I was two years old. The only reason why I know that I was two years old is because I asked my Mom how old I was when this certain person babysat me. I remember being on the bed with him (I was still wearing diapers) and him kissing me and guiding my head down to his penis to give him a blowjob.
I remember being in school when they gave a class about how it was wrong for people to touch you in inappropriate places. I remember realizing for the first time that this didn't happen to everyone. I had never questioned it prior to that class because it was normal to me. It had happened all of the time. I remember feeling horrible shame and guilt after this class. I never told a soul.
Another time I remember another babysitter who was the worst out of the bunch and who messed with me for years take me to the kitchen of his house (which later became MY house...long story that I'll post about later) and tied me to a kitchen chair after I told him that I was going to tell my Momma what he did to me. He then got a gun, put it to my head, cocked it (I will never forget that sound or feeling) and told me in no uncertain terms that if I told my Mom, that he would kill her in front of me so that I could watch and then kill me. I completely believed him and never said a word. My Momma was all I had. I was six years old then. Momma never found out until I was 16.
During times of abuse I did a very good job of disassociating myself from the event. In fact, I perfected the art of disassociation.
Wow, I'm tired. I can't look at the Wikipedia article anymore. No more comparing tonight. I've written enough and will read it later and possibly continue another time.
Even though this post is public, it is not meant to garner sympathy. I talked about these things because reading the Wikipedia article really made me think about a lot of things and really made me remember too much. These things happened a long time ago and I have done a very good job all of my life to keep them buried in holes in my mind that I created as a child.
Uncovering them and dusting them off is difficult work. Maybe it will help me.
Other than my husband, Mom, and maybe three others that have been close to me during my life know these things about me.
Remember, no sympathy. I have none for myself and you don't need to, either.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
It's Time to Fess Up
There is something I need to talk about. I never talk about this and I feel I must. I need to track it. So, I'm going to put a label for this post entitled "Sleeping" to find it easily.
This blog is for me. I realize that; however, I find myself not wanting to talk about everything Why? I really have no clue. It's like I have to keep up some type of persona even for myself. It truly is ridiculous and not helpful at all.
So...I need to fess up. It's time.
I've been severely depressed. To the point that I have been in bed sleeping for more than 18 hours at a time. It started like this: My daughter was sick Monday with a stomach virus. I stayed home with her. Tuesday she went back to school but needed to come home very early because she was still sick. I stayed home with her. I fretted the entire time about the money I wasn't earning while being home. I felt too guilty to leave her by herself while she was sick. I felt guilty for even worrying about money while she was sick.
I felt stuck. My husband is in Morocco. No one else was home to be with her. I needed to stay home. I wanted to stay home because I wanted to take care of her. It's just the factor of money that made anxiety flare like a bonfire.
Another reason why I fretted is because next week is Thanksgiving. We are off work next Thursday and Friday for the holiday. I don't get paid for holidays, therefore no money will be earned. Not getting paid for Monday and Tuesday along with next Thursday and Friday equals almost a week of work I won't get paid for.
That severely impedes my financial situation. Christmas is coming up soon as well. I won't get paid for two days during Christmas that the company takes off and also New Years Day. So, in a two-month time span I won't get paid for seven business days.
It gets worse though. I sabotaged myself...A LOT.
To make matters worse, I became so depressed by Wednesday I was in bed. I couldn't get up. My daughter went back to school. I slept. Thursday she felt bad again and stayed home. I was actually relieved because that was an excuse to stay home. Today she went back to school and I was in bed. So now it means I won't get paid for ten business days in a two-month span.
I have slept so much and I am so tired. My daughter is at my parents house for the weekend and I am alone which is best.
I just want to die. I don't want to wake up.
Don't worry - I'm not going to do myself in. I mean...sure, I think about it. I think everyone does at some point in their life. Maybe I'm wrong. I hope I'm not. Because if I am it means I'm more abnormal than I would like to think.
I haven't eaten except for two slices of French bread with some hummus. I have had maybe one cup of water a day.
I'm not hungry.
I finally ate tonight. I can't eat much. My stomach got filled up very quickly.
Yesterday my daughter climbed in bed with me. We talked. She is more aware than I would ever think or want to realize. See, I told her that I had the virus that she had. I thought she believed me. I think she does to some degree, but somehow the conversation turned to depression. She told me that she had never seen someone with depression so badly. See, she has anger issues at times. She told me that she was happy she had anger issues like her father compared to depression issues like me. She said that at least with anger it would go away after a while. She said depression doesn't go away. She said it may get better, but it comes back.
It does come back.
I feel so inconsistent.
I can't depend on myself.
I feel like a horrible mother.
I don't want her to remember this.
I don't want her to remember how I laid in the bed sleeping for 18+ hours.
It reminds me of my Mom. She did this (and still does). I am repeating the cycle. It must end.
This has happened so many times before in the past two years. And my financial situation just gets worse. I am slowly dying.
Sometimes I think it would be so much better if I weren't here. My daughter wouldn't have to watch. She would be better off. I try so hard to be a great mom...a great wife...a great employee...a great student...a great person. And then I sabotage myself and show everyone including myself what a piece of shit I am. Then it makes it so much harder to work because I feel like I have to make up for the depression.
At this point I have so much to make up for that I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel. It's too overwhelming.
This week my anger for my husband has been unreal. Since he has been gone I have been able to be away from the drama and the stress. I have been able to be a bit more objective because I'm not in the middle of the mess. I'm not walking on eggshells. It has been a relief. At the same time it has been maddening because I realize more and more what stress I go through with him. Doesn't he realize? Does he comprehend what it's like?
He hasn't been here to shout, scream and be insulting; however, I have been doing that for him in my mind. The inner dialogue in my mind keeps repeating what he has said to me in the past and it makes me more and more angry.
I have been in the pursuit of his happiness for seven years. I have wanted him to live his dream for seven years. I just want him to be happy!!!!!!
Does he want me to be happy?
Friday, November 2, 2007
Too Much To Do In Too Little Time
I don't know what is wrong with me. I can barely breathe. I think that it's anxiety; however, I don't know what I'm anxious about. I'm at work right now taking a small break. It's 7:52pm and I'll be here for quite a while. I've been here since 9:00am and am exhausted.
Today I have experienced emotions such as sadness, fear, anger, and disgust. In order to try and figure out why I'm feeling this way I will dissect each emotion and why I feel it:
Sadness
I thought that I would be relieved when my husband went to Morocco. We definitely needed a break from each other to think things through. I thought at first it would be a nice break and then I would start missing him. What I didn't expect is that I am already missing him. I feel lost without him. Life doesn't have as much sense to it now. I never expected to have that reaction.
Fear
I am afraid that when he returns home things will go back to the hell it was and I don't want that to happen. I really want things to get better in every way. It basically boils down to wanting him to be happy.
Anger
Today I attended a luncheon provided by my contract company. It was quite nice to be there and the food was great. The owner of my contact company is a personal friend who I respect, admire and love. She is a great woman. I've known her a little over five years. She asked how my husband was doing and the discussion invariably went to his art. She loves art and has many amazing pieces displayed in her home. She asked how he was doing in his business and I told her that he is no longer focusing on "making the hotdogs". She thought that his hotdogs were his art! I explained (once again) that what he has designed in homes is merely craft and a way to make money. I reminded her about his fine art and though I didn't show it, I became angry. I wasn't angry with her.
So, why was I angry?
Because I am SICK and TIRED of explaining his fine art to people. People don't seem to get it or remember it. I have firmly believed since I met him that he will be in art history books one day. I have never wavered in this belief. You may equate my thinking to him making a lot of money. It was never about the money. Riches and fame are two different things and they don't always go hand-in-hand. Though we are in dire straits financially I really don't care about him making millions with his art. What I care about is that he one day receives the recognition he deserves.
Disgust
I am a sub-contractor working on a four year project. Many employees I work with are highly arrogant and love to backstab. I refuse to personally associate with many and maintain a very professional relationship. I am sickened at times to see how they interact with each other. It reminds me of five-year old boys squabbling in a sandbox over a toy truck. People here are either on the offense or defense. There is no middle ground. Today I watched someone strut into our area asking why people were talking with each other like he was the CEO. The ironic thing is that if you walk down to his area he is consistently surfing the net.
The company is quite unethical and sometimes charges the client with work they did for another project. They lie a lot. Today I have reached my limit and am thoroughly disgusted. I really want to get out of here because my respect for them has dwindled to nothing.
My dream job is working in California for Google. In the past I have looked at their available positions and I plan to do that again soon.
Ugh...I better get back to work. Too much to do in too little time. I'll be here tomorrow as well, but still...
I also have mid-terms to work on, an outline to write and turn in for my research paper, grocery shopping, washing clothes and cleaning around the house. I hope I can get through this weekend.
Posted by Chunks of Reality at 7:59 PM 1 comments
Labels: Anxiety, Artist, Disgust, Fear, Husband, Making the "Hot Dogs", Sadness