2.34am
So . . . my last few posts show I’m currently going through an attack of the crazies, this post will probably follow patt. However, there will be some adult themes {sections marked *}, parental guidance is required.
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I can’t sleep lately. Of course I can’t, we need to add one more torture to the mix, deprive me of sleep to push me that little bit further into insanity.
So last night [as in three or four hours ago], I went to bed. I thought tonight would be better after having spoken to the Lovely Ƕ yesterday, perhaps I would feel a little safer, more protected again?
I did everything I could to maximize the chance of sleep, all my bedtime rituals, even put on warm pj’s [my clothes haven't been changed much lately]. It’s cold here, so I could wrap in layers of blankets – and the heaviness helps me feel safer.
Warm drink and natural sleep meds ~ ✓
Feet warm ~ ✓
Nightlight ~ ✓
Willow ~ ✓
Bedtime ‘reading’ ~ ✓
Doors, windows locked ~ ✓
Progressive muscle relaxation bedtime chant ~ ✓
This has been the same routine I have developed and had for years. I do everything I possibly can to optimize getting sleep as it is often elusive to me, and has been non-existent lately. But tonight I thought we had a shot, I am exhausted.
Whilst looking at a book [not reading, that's still beyond Ms Craziness], I felt myself start to doze, so lights went out, it was time to take advantage of sleep [this was probably at about 11.15pm].
11.47pm ~ awake, it’s dark, go back to sleep, you need some more sleep
12.21am ~ awake, terrified, go through the chant again, settle down, no-one’s there, breathe
1.06am ~ awake, nooo, not another night like this, please let me sleep, take these nightmares away, please
1.40am ~ where am I? what year is it? let me sleep. Okay, we’ll start again, your feet feel warm and light and relaxed, you’re safe . . . your shoulders feel warm and light and relaxed, you’re sa. . .
2.34am ~ nooo, pleaseplease NOOO. get off me go away it’s hurting stop [screaming, not just in my head, sometimes I think it's my screaming that wakes me up, heaven knows what my neighbours think] Orientate yourself, ground yourself, there’s noone there, it’s just a dream.
But it’s not just a dream, and here comes the part where the children must leave the room{*}.
Not only have I been having these fun-filled nightmare nights where I wake every half hour terrified, heart-racing, and having to calm and orientate myself for the five-hundredth time, but something else is happening, and I find it excruciating, and humiliating, and shameful, and appalling. And I don’t know how to stop it.
*I often wake in the middle of a nightmare/memory [how can I possibly be having dreams after only half an hour? It seems I do, and has been witnessed by others]. I am terrified. It takes a while for me to calm myself down. It takes a while for me to ‘get back into my body’, my mind stays stuck in the images from the dream, I don’t notice the heart palpitations, the rapid breathing . . . or the other sensations. The sensations that disgust me, and can go on in waves for half an hour afterwards.
*I’m not doing anything. It’s is my body that does it, and I can’t stop it. And if it was in other circumstances a person may be groaning in ecstasy. I groan, and writhe, and sob ~ but in agony and disgust. I want to take a knife and slice away that part of my anatomy. I get through one wave of throbbing pain and torment, start to breathe again, still have images from my past of the father on top of me, or having to perform something on one of those men, and it starts all over again, and I can’t stop it. I try to relax, but I can’t. If I tense it makes the sensation worse. I am left calling out ‘Stop, please please stop’, but my body seems to be in spasm, and I am in tears and disgusted and in agony.
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I know, I have read the literature, I have discussed this with the Lovely Ƕ. I know this is a ‘normal’ physical sensation ~ but it is in response to abnormal and filthy memories. And that’s how it makes me feel ~ abnormal, filthy, disgusting, abhorrent. Even more crazy, if that’s possible right now.
And the thing is, I’m already abnormal in relation to sex. It doesn’t do it for me. Fullstop. I’ve done it, in adult ‘loving’ relationships [or the closest imitation I can muster], and sex is one of those duties I just have to perform to meet my partner’s needs, because I have no needs in this area whatsoever. And whilst my partners have never known, I can do a pretty good imitation of that scene from ‘When Harry Met Sally’ whilst checking out the cobwebs in the far corner of the ceiling. I totally disconnect when someone touches me. It hurts more than anything.
Yes, in this world that seems to revolve around sex, I am abnormal, and I am ashamed of this, and it makes me feel even more insane. Isn’t sex one of the things that makes us human? Isn’t it a natural characteristic of being human? Don’t people have normal urges to be with others?
I don’t.
Ever.
This is one of the reasons I know I am broken, defective. And when I wake from nightmares like the one from an hour ago, and there is a throbbing, painful ‘orgasm’ taking place in response to the abhorrent images bombarding my mind, I feel so abhorrent, repulsive, loathsome, obscene and bad. Lower than low. More unreal. Depraved. And it hurts, it really hurts.
The images refresh in my mind ↔ the sensations start again ⤿ . . . over and over again.
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I need some sleep, but now I’m too scared to get back into bed. Maybe I’ll try to go for a walk.
I hate this.
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Trying to work out what’s going on
Firstly, I’m sorry. I know people have read and commented, but I just haven’t been able to interact. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I can trust anymore, least of all myself.
Next, the Lovely Ƕ rang this morning. She said something about leaving her phone somewhere, I don’t know if I believe her. She was kind, but I don’t know if she can help, at least not in the way I want. I can’t remember everything we spoke about. We talked about hospital, she doesn’t think it’s appropriate for me, I don’t either, but I feel so unpredictable.
I think I am overwhelmed by a few things at the moment, and I’m just going to attempt to write about them here. I feel out of control, because I am. And I am scared, terrified. Whilst I have always had an inner world, it’s like it has been held behind a transparent curtain, everything is muted, the colours and sounds. The occupants. But in these last few weeks that curtain has been torn down, everything is loud and crashing around me, I have no idea who I am or where I am. I wake in the wrong bed, in the wrong city. my voice is wrong, and there are too many loud voices in my head. I have never felt this insane.
I know I’ve been falling apart for a few weeks now, and I’ve been trying to work out why. At first I thought it was when Ƕ went away, and this highlighted how alone I feel. But I know I was disintegrating before this.
And this morning I think I may have worked out why, but I’m not sure, and I am very scared to write about it. I feel myself dissolving just thinking about it, and am finding it so hard to breathe, and my head is aching from the screaming. There are too many voices, I didn’t think I was this splintered, but I did, I can’t explain this. But it feels like someone has suddenly turned up the volume, and I can’t turn it down. I can’t sleep. I can’t read. All I want to do is run and escape. It feels like something huge and bad is about to happen and I need to escape/die before it does. This is not something I have to think about, it’s just something that has to happen, this thought is so black and white, like something that has been programmed into me. And I’m starting to wonder if it has.
I don’t know if this is making sense, I just know I need to write it out, then maybe it will make sense to me.
This is the hard part, what I have been avoiding. There is an investigation/inquiry taking place here in Oz. It was announced a few months ago. I have not let myself look at the news stories too much, because it really doesn’t relate to me. The inquiry regards addressing the abuse of children at the hands of church and authority figures like scout leaders, particularly looking at abuse by the Catholic Church, and how this has been secretly dealt with over the years.
I am starting to tremble and shake as I write this, but that is stupid, because I don’t fall into this category. I don’t understand my reaction. But I do think things started crashing around me when this inquiry was announced. Do you remember I changed my screen name, i think this happened then.
The inquiry will see thousands of witnesses telling their stories of abuse, and each disclosure will be investigated. It is estimated the witness testimonies will take years.
I am shaking so hard right now and I don’t understand this I don’t fall into this group. But I know when i happen to see another account in the media about thow this inquiry is progressing, i feel the need to run, enormous shame, and quickly become suicidal.
I mentioned to Ƕ this morning that I think my current disintegration may have something to do with this inquiry, but didn’t understand why, but I feel like I should be testifying. [i didn't say i don't know what i would be testifying, because i cant join those dots. but i know the whole idea of this investigation has me terified]
Ƕ said maybe I should go to give a statement, and I said I might as well go too the family home and tell them to shoot me right now.
I have been thinking about this. Firstly that Ƕ suggested I should even go to testify, she knows what the inquiry is about, it has nothing to do with me, so why would she suggest I go? And secondly why am I so terrified to the point of suicidality just by thinking about this inquiry.
I had also told Ƕ that at the moment it’s like I look at a wall and it’s transparent. I see the wall but there are other images overlaid, and I am finding it difficult to decipher which is the real time. Many times the other image is from when I was young, and in the room under the house.
After we got off the phone this happened again. And I got stuck in that room. The sounds, the smells the sensations, the sights. There was often a projector behind me, showing images, it was mostly me, mostly. Sometimes it wasn’t. I didn’t know the others. Except for one. and she was a b ad girl her family were bad she was bad she came to school unwashed her hair had knots she sworeshe was bad all the time i was nothing like her
It suddenly hit me this morning ~ What if she is testifying? Everybody will know. EVERYBODY. Everybody will see me. She knows who i am everyone will know. the police will come and theyll take me away. the family will find out and theyll hurt me theyll killl memy head is screaming. im holding it b ut its screaming i feel like bashing it against a wall to make it all stop
its like im waiting fr a bomb to explode and i have bno control over when thnis will happen
and everyone will know and see how horrible and bad and duisgusting i am
i think i feel i HAVE TO disappear before this happens.
i have to stop writing for now i cant stop shakingmy head is exploding with blindingpaini feel like im going to sick
i have to go
stupid ****ing me
you thought the last post showed my insanity? that was nothing. this post is ugly, pessimistic, and i am closing down, witness my insanity firsthand. i wish i could believe someone, anyone, cared, but i just cant
she didnt call
heres whats going on in my head -
she only said she would try to call – so why couldn’t she send a 2 second text saying she couldn’t?
something has happened, shes sick, shes been in an accident – na, if she cared she still would have texted, she knows how much i needed it
and thats why she didnt call, she knows how much we needed it – AND SHE DOESNT CARE - how long will it take you to realise this?
shes sick of you
i think she actually wants you dead. she knows how her not calling will affect you, and she is willing to take this gamble, because its not a gamble, she wants you dead. she knows how worthless you are, when will it sink in to your thick stupid head?
shes trying to make you angry, trying to get you to harness and express this emotion, then get angry about your past, her withholding contact is therapeutic, showing you that youre able to get through all these feelings without her help, you are strong enough to do this – she’s wrong, all i can see is im not worth the time, and she wants me dead
its so easy for her to hide behind the rules and methods of therapy. it takes away her responsibility. she doesnt have to care because its up to the patient to learn their own self care – that just doesnt work, i hate myself too much to care about me, and if she doesn’t care about me either, the one person who knows more about me than anyone else, who is qualified to make the assessment of whether i am worth any care, then why should i bother?
maybe shes actually a psychopath, maybe all therapists are. they draw people in, pretend to care, there is always a ‘therapeutic’ excuse for their bad behaviour, and it is never their fault, simply an experience for the stupid patient to learn from, meanwhile they delight in seeing how much damage they can inflict on the psyches of their already demented patients. ive already had one therapist who laughed about me to his mates at the local pub, and i can just see h in fits with her friends over dinner telling them about my stupidity and gullibility
its games, all games. i grew up with enough games, never knowing if i was playing properly, getting punished for having the wrong look on my face, not playing my part properly. i refuse to play these games anymore
im sounding angry, aren’t i?
maybe i am, with myself
why do i let myself fall into these traps? because youre so fucking stupid. and needy. and pathetic
its just a fucking phonecall – i needed to hear from someone who cared, im so stupid
i dont know what to do. i cant escape this hell. i recontacted her because i tried to top myself this week, and of course it didn’t work. this place is unbearable. everything is unbearable. i cant trust anyone else, and least of all can i trust myself. i am soooo pathetic
how can i escape icant cope with this hell any longer
why am i writing? what is the fucking point? to anything?
In Pieces ~ Removing the Façades
I don’t remember a time of ever feeling this splintered.
It feels so much like I am a puppet, and someone is pulling the strings, lurching me in all different directions, and all I can do is watch. I’m experiencing the pull of the strings at the same time as watching. I see myself curling in a ball and sobbing, then scrubbing the house, then visualizing different suicide scenarios, then reliving scenes from so long ago ~ all in the space of half an hour.
And there is an ever present heaviness, pain, in my chest. There is a constant argument in my mind. Those voices in there seem to be becoming stronger. The ones that have always been there, but elusive, are becoming clearer at the moment for some reason. Everyone is jostling for attention. I literally feel like I’m being torn apart, whoever is pulling those strings is doing it from opposite directions, my body and mind will be rent in two.
I am in a bubble, the rest of the world is muted. I have to look at the top of this screen to see what the current time and date are, because many times I am sure I am back in that country town, I am about 8 years old, under the house, lights trained on me, in front of those eyes, smiles on lips, a voice ordering me what pose to take, flashlights exploding ~ I can’t escape these memories.
My mind is cycling at 1000 miles an hour. I am so out of control. And so exhausted.
I have recontacted the Lovely Ƕ. She said she would try to ring us today. But now I am scared. What do I say? How can she help? Char tells me I’m falling back into that trap. Hannah says I need help. Little Claire just cries. Arguments won’t stop. One minute I am ready to get in the car and drive to that country town and die, for some reason it needs to happen there. I don’t understand this. The next minute we need to beg H just to hold onto me and make this all stop. And then the fight starts up again that H can’t be trusted. But who else is there? I am so confused.
And so tired.
H tells me we need to be brave and stick with it, commit to the world, and not run.
I don’t have the energy to run. But I am so good at it.
I am so tired.
Am I the puppet mistress, or is someone else?
I am so confused.
ʈ౬ƈ૬ɧβȵ
Even the birds know
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I walked to the edge
jumped
and still woke up
⦿ 
Photographer: George Christakis
◉ Feelings ◉
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◉ After the Rain ◉
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i wish
i wish i was stronger
iwish i wasnt so weak
i wish my mind was normal
i wish that for just one moment i felt i belonged somewhere, and that everything was real, not on the threshold of shattering and disappearing
i wish i could trust someone, anyone
i wish someone could just hold me and tell me everything would be alright, and it was
i wish i knew for certain what i did this morning, or even half an hour ago
i wish i could wake and feel happy to see the new day
iwish i wanted to see a new day, i wish i wanted to live
i wish i had never been adopted
i wish i had been stronger when i was young and told someone, and had a chance
i wish i wasn’t so weak that i resorted to living in my insane mind and splintering and not knowing who i am because there are too many mes
i wish i wasnt so weak
i wish they were dead
i wish they all died before i was born so the world could be safe
i wish i was safe
i wish i was sane
i wish i could stop
i wish everything could stop
now
Grief
I haven’t written much lately, been too busy falling down my black hole. And I have a feeling people are a little tired of hearing about it. Ah well, I never promised a happy blog.
I have been struggling with everything. And been trying to weigh up whether the limitations of therapy are too difficult for me to continue to overlook. My last few appointments with the Lovely Ƕ have lasted for about 20 minutes before I have left, feeling totally defeated and alone.
It’s that sense of aloneness that is really getting to me. And whilst I know the Lovely Ƕ has done many things to show me I have value, to help me feel safe, to enable me to speak about anything, to empower me to help myself, and to provide a model of behaviour ~ there are still boundaries in therapy that cannot be crossed. And I understand these are there for very good reasons, but they hurt.
And I feel so pathetic to admit to this, but I wish she could just take care of me. And each time I see her I know that this just cannot happen. She has often told me how important it is for me to learn to re-parent my own self. But how can I do that? What experience do I have in being parented? And if four parents didn’t see me as worthy of this, how am I supposed to see myself as worthy of this.
It’s all too late. Why didn’t someone see the pit I was in as a child? Why did I have to be so fucking clever in hiding it? Why couldn’t someone have gone that extra mile for me then, and given me half a chance at life?
And now it is all too late. My brain is fried. I have no connection to anything. No matter how hard I try I can’t inject the slightest bit of reality into anything around me. And even if someone did go that extra mile for me now, they took me in and cared for me, it wouldn’t work, I wouldn’t trust their sincerety, it is all too late.
So I ended therapy. I can no longer push aside my core beliefs in the hope one day things will become real. And I see Ƕ following the therapy formula, and doing it well and right, but it’s just not enough. It’s torturous. Seeing her try so hard, but knowing it’s not even making a dent. Parts of me wishing she was my mother, but also knowing even this wouldn’t change anything.
It’s just all too late.
I have to stop participating. I have to stop being part of perpetuating this misery. I just have to stop.
I miss her . . . but know I cannot continue to hope for change, know I am just prolonging agony, and can’t bear the thought I am part of perpetuating this torture.
But it is so very lonely.
ʈ
slipping . . .
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each day she watches
as her masks of sanity
. . slip
like cold dead skin
. . . sloughing
from a gangrenous limb
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each hour she feels
the high brittle walls
. . tighten
like a rough noose
. . . choking
holding her hostage
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each moment she hears
the voices of her mind
. . slither
like a seductive serpent
. . . whispering
. . . . hissing
. . . . . beguiling
those last few lucid cells
into leaving peacefully
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[Featured Artist: Chrissy Angliker]
ʈ౬
Opting Out
Amy Cutler ~ Opal’s Departure
Yesterday, when I told the Lovely Ƕ I didn’t believe she was real, just as I don’t believe anyone else is real in this world, she said,
Don’t you think that’s a good cop out?
So . . . Is this how she really feels? That I pretend to be insane to ‘cop out’ of facing things. That I place myself in a position of seclusion from the world, suffer not even feeling the reality of my own sons, and endure this utter loneliness and terror in order to ‘cop out’.
If this is the case, how do I stop ‘copping out’. That’s why I went to her in the first place, to try to attain some realness to the world around me. But hey? It seems I am just a coward copping out. My miserableness is my own doing.
It’s time to stop copping out.
It’s time to stop.
