Week seven; Good job, you played yourself.

I’m very late on this post, so I apologize in advanced. If you’ve been following me for this long thank you. New readers welcome! I visit a therapist once a week and these are my weekly write ups. My notes and experiences with a therapist. However I’m late on this post, as I previously said. This should have been done last week. Better late then never though!

As I’ve ranted before last week was my first week back at work. Which caused me to be all over the place. I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t want to go out and be an “adult”. I just wanted to sit at home as I am now, and write. Writing helps me understand myself better and I love it. Doing research and looking out into the internet.. I’m learning so much. And I feel like it’s being taken away. I just want to stay in lalaland.

Recap said and done now, this is exactly how this sess went. Happy house was excited to hear about my first week back, and I was happy to talk about it also. However I had this ugly burning sensation sitting in that familiar couch cushion. It tingled in my spine as I sunk deeper into the safety of the room. And as he started asking me how the week was, that burning sensation traveled into my chest. What I hate most about these sessions is that I can never forget the physical pain. We can talk and talk and talk and never remember anything spoken. However the feelings and physical pain… never leaves.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I released all my fears and how I knew I was going to end up quitting. I’ve gone through this many times and I knew the triggers. I was grateful for an easy start but then it got to wild, to quick. And I hated that. I felt different. I felt like everyone knew what happened to me and that my breakdown was just “work related” when it wasn’t. I felt like everyone was whispering about me and laughing behind my back as I did my job. Like I was always being watched. Even thought I tried to breath, it’s like I forgot everything that I was practicing for (my guided meditation practices). And my mind knows how to pull strings. Thinking that everyone knew my struggles and how I couldn’t remember my breathing, they all silently made fun of me more. And I didn’t want that. So on Tuesday as an opportunity presented itself- I dove in. I let everyone know that I wasn’t going to be dealing with any nonsense and things will be going my way. No questions asked. Although, as soon as I spoke it out loud I didn’t feel anything good. I felt no positive, triumphant, or warm burst of energy. I felt lifeless, and full of air. Which made me feel exhausted. And as I’m sitting there on the verge of tears yet again, telling him all of these fears I notice he takes a breath.

He’s telling me some information about how he thinks yoga could help me. I am a person whose whole mood can change if I don’t sleep enough and he’s noticed this. He says that this class is kinda expensive but it could possibly work for me. The instructor is a woman who not only teaches yoga, but she teaches meditation and teaches other yoga instructors. I was interested. However she’s based 30 minutes away from me, and I have terrible commitment issues. Especially if they are more then 10 minutes away. I’ve always been that way. I appreciated the info non the less and I hope to try it out. I’ll have her contact info at this weeks (eight) session.

Going back to the sleep topic, he also believes that I need to focus more on a nightly routine. Once again I’ve never been “timely” organized as an adult. So this is more of a challenge then I thought it would be. I’m too focused on finishing up whatever task I’m doing before bed, that when I’m past bedtime I don’t even think about spending that 15-20 minutes to help me rest easy. I jump right into bed and then think about how I didn’t do something so simple as my nightly routine. I beat myself up over it and then it causes me to toss and turn and hate myself. However I can’t find myself getting out of bed to do it. I’m also not a morning person. I can’t stand waking up bright and early just to “do” things in the day. I’m conflicted here because I don’t always feel that way. Sometimes I enjoy waking up with a clear head thinking “cool, I have nothing holding me back today”. No immediate tasks need my attention. And I feel free to actually wake up and do whatever it is I want to do. Oops, I’m getting off topic. Anyways, I don’t do well with waking up early and I can’t stick to my routines.

So his only advice was for me to try and find some routines that work for me, and that I needed to find things that could help me sleep. I have nightmares and vivid dreams. I wake up almost a dozen times a night and I don’t get any rest anymore. So it affects me throughout the day. Right now as I’m writing this, I’m exhausted because once again I didn’t sleep. And once again, I didn’t go to work because I didn’t want to have a bad day, from not getting a good nights sleep. I’m spoon feeding myself negativity at this point. I’m not trying. I’m not giving myself a shot to just work through it. Because I’ve already made up my mind. As I said in the beginning. I don’t want to work anymore. And I can’t help myself here.

Our session was cut short in my opinion. I was the last client of the day, so we cut out 10 minutes early so he could go home. And I get it, I’ve done it before. I was just so heart broken. I wanted to just stay on the couch and lay down in hopes that I could find happiness. But before we said good bye, I had asked him why.

“Why can’t I be normal and go to work and take care of responsibilities like everyone else? Why am I so different? “

He didn’t even twitch or breath. He just stared at me.

“It’s ok to feel that way.”

I started crying again as I walked out the door. That soft but dense latch from him locking the door rung in my ears.

Routine, learn to wake up, and it’s ok. I’m throwing my hands in the air.


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When you’re ready to smile again.

I’m sweating. Only because I’m upstairs on my desktop and they say “heat rises”. So it’s hot up here. I’m shaking every now and then and as I filter through all the tabs I have opened.. I physically feel my mind and body race into all sorts of thoughts that I can’t seem to get a grip on.

Yesterday was a bad day, and I thought today was going to be another bad day. It took me two hours after waking up to realize that I needed to do something. I needed to get up and try to do something. Anything to make myself not feel like such a failure. Anything so someone would look at the task or action at hand and go “Look at you! You’re doing great!” But I won’t believe them. A task or action at hand that could shoot relief into my bloodstream. A task or action at hand that will release me from this suffocating grip around my torso. Anything. And as my cat comes, he headbutts me- his usual signal to open my arms so he can curl into me. It’s a sign I’ve recently noticed when I’m not myself. When I’m struggling to understand what I need to do to help myself. But I can’t figure it out. Nothing comes to mind. Just self disappointment on how I can’t get up and do something so simple. I let him hold me. And as my streaming tears fall on his fur, I can feel the vibration of his purrs in my chest. And I cry some more.

Some time had passed and something surged inside of me. I was willing. I was willing to try, just for a second. Start small. Something that would help feel a little more organized. My to-do lists where piling up and I couldn’t make another one. Another undone to-do list. So I made my bed. Jaja (my cat) loves when you make the bed. He bounces under the blanket and likes to smack the blanket down. It’s comforting to watch his joyfulness. After I make the bed, I needed to fold the laundry. It took me two hours to fold it all, but I’m proud to say I did it. I put the tv on and that’s what distracted me the most. But it’s ok. I’m ok with it now. And then all of a sudden it came back to me. Sitting down on the bed, it crept back. That sinking feeling. Where all of my insides instantly vanished- ripped out- and I’m left standing there, crumbling in on myself. The bones snap and grind together, my skin cold and solid. Shattering as it clashed on the way down with my bones. Left behind was a mess unable to be put back together. Humpty Dumpty has nothing on me at this point. So why bother. My soul was gone, and it didn’t want to come back. I was reminded how much of a failure I was. How much of a true loser I was. How I’m never able to complete anything. How much of  a burden I am. How much of a disappointment I am. How no one understood because I don’t know how to explain it. I can’t form words that have any intellect behind them. I drown myself with them- the words. They catch in my throat and clog my airway. The burning is so intense I’m crying, begging for my stomach to react and throw it all up. To help clear my air way. But she’s not phased. Because she’s already collapsing in on herself. Folded in so tight she can’t breath herself. And I panic. The sloppy kind, where I’m wrapping myself as hard as I can, eyes wide and flowing fluids. The type of breathing you get annoyed at in the horror movies because they are so loud and obnoxious and you want them to stop. Hyperventilation so intense you tremble but at the same time, you have a clear head. No idea how to make it stop. No idea how to get out. Just… sinking. Waiting for it to pass. So that the physical exhaustion can induce a sweet, blissful coma.

What started it all, all together.. I suddenly wanted space. I wanted to move out of my parents home because they want me gone. But not enough to push me out with nothing. I was reminded how much of a burden I was for not working while I dealt with my anxiety. How much of a burden I was while I dealt with my depression. How much of a burden I was because I wasn’t doing anything with my life. How I suck up all sorts of resources and need to contribute more. I felt selfish when in reality I’m not. And I felt so exceptionally lonely. Hopeless. Standards that are so high I can’t see them. Even with my anti-glare glasses. Expectations I attempt to crawl up too. However it’s on a mountain with no ledges. And you bet those standards are up there too. I know it. But whats the point. I’m not athletic enough mentally and physically to accomplish this. Lazy. Because I gave up before even giving it all I had. But I had nothing to give in the first place. Unmotivated.

And I haven’t tried. I haven’t put effort into anything. So I get worked up and angry with myself for not doing just that. Trying. I get so worked up that sometimes I’ll forget what I was so worked up over. It can take me days to remember that “one thing i didn’t do” and I’m angry all over again. Wondering why I can’t do it. Why I can’t help myself. Because the tool box was misplaced, and I can’t even bother to look for it. Because there is no point in wasting any energy, when I can’t try.  Can’t help myself. Just no point.

I understand now. I get it. I know I must live around it. Let this demon take the wheel and drive until it’s on empty. And hope there isn’t a gas can in the trunk. I get how I have to help myself. I get how I need to reach out. I get that I need to do something. I get how I must look forward to a fresh new day. But I can’t set myself up for that disappointment. I can’t let myself believe that yet, it’s just too premature. Just take notes on the scenery and log the hard work later. When you can handle looking back on these notes. When you’re ready to relive how truly dark your demon was. How his smile was so piercing white you recoiled. How he boomed with laughter for each flinch. How he held your hand and said it will all be OK. How he took your food away. How he took your strength away. How he took your will away. How he took your mind away. When you’re ready to put back together your skin and bones. Your lungs and heart and warmth. When you’re ready to smile again. And when that time comes to read these notes, smile and learn. Don’t take his hand next time. Smile and extend yours instead. When you’re ready.