Archive for April, 2009

being broken together

edges are having a hard time. their birthday is today yesterday, and like birthdays are so often, it’s upsetting and menacing and just generally being a pain in their ass. it’s such a well-defined thing that i keep feeling like i somehow have to be strong for them. like only one person can be the focus. (the focus of what?) like only the normative state, the only unmarked case, is to be okay or happy.

but edges and we are good teachers and good learners. bit by bit, we are trying to find something more stable than everyone-is-okay. it is very hard, like trying to write with a non-dominant hand. we have a lot of false starts, a lot of missed steps where we run away and hide and can’t deal at all. but it always comes right again. i love to participate in a relationship that’s so renewable. whatever cloth we make together is all holey, and more trustworthy for it. at least, i think that in the good moments.

why is the idea that only one person can be upset so persistent? we all seem to see support as a zero sum game – one person gives it, one person takes it. i know i think badly of myself/ves when i’m “using up” somebody else’s caring. and there’s something – there’s focus, and roles – but i don’t think you need to devote yourself to comforting someone to give them support, and i don’t think it’s necessary to have a clear focal point in conversation. for example, does it matter who is hugging who? isn’t it a fairly mutual activity? (so why do we hug someone, instead of hugging with them?)

some of it has to do with how much is tied up in the concept of “okay” and how important it is that that be maintained. when we are not okay we always feel like we’re a drain on resources, a drag, a negative. it seems almost like part of the definition. we are hurting others with our hurting. we are forcing them to be near something unpleasant. we have to defend ourselves – the unmarked case is “okay”. (i am not even sure what that means, but that’s another post.) if we are “not okay”, we have to explain and specify and provide reasons. any vagueness here is somehow a failure. like “not okay” can be converted to “okay” if we have a defensible reason for being upset, with a visible solution.

all my friends would probably define themselves as crazy, as would i, and in these crazy communities this issue comes up again and again. there is an implicit hierarchy we explicitly fight against, at best. who has the most right to be upset? who has the most shit going on? there is this subconscious, automatic reckoning, and it’s so pervasive, i know we all do it. even though we talk about not wanting to do it. the one who is worse off is special and deserving – but on the flip side, the one who is better off and accepts it gets the moral high ground. “oh, my stuff is stupid. yours is real.” then you are the modest one, the restrained one. at the very least, you are building up credit for the next time  you break down. but that credit is damn hard to spend… it’s such a fucking illusion.

i’ve also noticed that people who self-define as okay tend to think that there needs to be a buddy system, every not-okay bonded and surrounded only with okays. (i’d love some better terminology. but everything carries too many connotations, or is too specific.) some mental health professionals do this too, i think. they’re afraid we’re going to encourage each other, teach each other how to be miserable. heaven forbid we provide each other with validation, let alone encouragement. to me, this feels like the same kind of slimy reasoning that says schoolkids shoot each other because of video games. it doesn’t wash at all. 

anyway, the okay people are too afraid of us rubbing off on them. they’ll all eventually run away – but still try to govern what “influences” we have contact with.

i want to reject all of that. i want to get away from the coin-world where one side is always on top. support can be so many things. so many aspects of support are uniquely suited to others who know what it feels like. practical things that take a tangible amount of energy, that we might not be up to when upset – like cooking or cleaning –  are so rarely what we need the most. just being there, especially if we’re not trying to make things better, can make so much difference. 

maybe one of the important things to remember when attempting to provide or receive support is that we can’t be fixed, and we can’t fix another person. it may not be possible or desirable to feel better. 

i guess there’s a reason i’ve devoted so much of my life to peer support. heh.

Afraid to write

It is another day. It still feels like there’s nothing to say, like I used up all my words long ago and have been using recycled ones ever since. My feelings are recycled, also. No one wants to hear any of it. I have nothing to add, nothing new to say, I am still broken and sad and discouraged and in pain. I want to cry this morning but I don’t understand why. Something is wrong, but something’s always wrong, it’s all stupid, there’s no point. Nobody cares anymore, everybody used up their caring already. It’s the same stupid fucking story. My bravado is all gone and I have no pride and no health and no wisdom. I’m bored of the story where I say I’m bored of my story. It’s recursion, there is no end to this and I’m not strong enough right now to laugh kindly at myself. I can do it mean, what the hell is the point of that?

If my style is stilted, it’s because I’m dictating this lying in bed. I keep having these migraines. It hurts to use my eyes, it hurts to move around, it hurts to do anything. I’ve been cobbling together solutions, feeling like a bit of a fraud because after all there’s nothing really wrong with me. It’s luxurious and effete to lie in bed with my eyes closed and just say a journal entry aloud. It’s easier to make room for anybody else. It’s hard to make room for myself. I think everybody will hate me and everybody will judge me. Maybe they will.

matt

i wonder if our headaches are the only way insiders have to make us take it easy. feh.

you’re what’s coming next

i’d like to figure out how to salvage some of the day. i want to have been useful to myself, in some small measure. i’m scared, but then again not. i’m sad, i don’t know. i’m sleepy; i even took a nap. my attention span is ridiculously short. nothing works. nothing works! i’m not quite sure what’s going on. i saw edges, which should make it a purple and golden day, at least a little bit. but i was slipping and sliding down the wet hill when they were here, too. i’m not sure of myselves, i’m not sure of much. but i’m also reasonably sure of my life and hopeful and fine. nothing wrong here, move along… i guess i need to be focusing on therapy these days. because i can’t just take the time and free space and just sublimate. that wouldn’t even be fun.

i haven’t left the house today, but i don’t know if i’m up for it on my own. i’m sick of being not able to do things on my own. it seems like after i’ve seen someone else in a day, it’s more difficult to go out alone. i could always go grocery shopping, to the park, to pike’s place, it’s a beautiful day. of course, since it’s a weekend day, i might as well hold off on those places till later. i do think it helps to leave the house every day.

the tree outside my window is starting to put out small green tips. it will be so nice when it is leafy again. it makes a beautiful tapestry of moving shadows on my wall by my bed. it’s especially noticeable at night, because the streetlight shined directly through (actually i guess it’s really only at night.) i’m so tired. i took a nap today which never happens. what’s up, body?

i am not sure of my next breath. i don’t know what i wanted to say, and if i’ve mentioned it. my attention takes swooping dives, and they can be so strangely urgent. i was impatient with my shower this morning because i thought of something i wanted to go look up on wikipedia. at least it’s warm enough weather that i can make the water cold so i can wash my face. i am hoping to get my acne level a bit more under control. not like i’m dying of worry now, or anything.

i shaved my face yesterday, finally. it was not a planned straggly moustache, but i didn’t have a razor and i kept not getting one. now my cheeks and upper lip feel weird and soft and rubbery. i mention everything, i don’t know what’s relevant. i don’t know how to sift, or to hold on to what i was writing about a second ago. i’m in flux, but i’m okay, too, okay.

our brain is still fussing and working on something that happened friday. i just want to remind myself of it, or at least make some record. i won’t, can’t say more.

i’ve been reading and reading, and it’s so nice.

we did good work in therapy on thursday. sg did emdr and had several new thoughts about the memory we wrote last entry. i don’t think we’re ready to write about it, but we should eventually.

stuck in head

music hides me so well… and reveals me, oh well. (happy rhodes)

watch out, watch your step

i’m jittery, weepy, anxious. i’m dissatisfied and confused. there is an unmet need in me, resentful, jealous. we felt like we couldn’t be good enough for our therapist. i think that younger ones are close, and don’t understand edges’ pain. kids in multiple systems often have trouble dealing with other systems’ kids, i’ve noticed. (not nearly always, just often.) i think they can have trouble recognizing the smallness in others. especially because they never got a chance (in some cases) to socialize with other kids.

edges sent us a couple of short emails canceling our plans for the evening. canceling wasn’t a problem; but we do feel snubbed. like we need armor. like fine i don’t care i don’t need you anyway. like we do not exist. tense with weight, shoulders, hips, calves. like we could cry, but we can’t. like no one cares about anything that is going on with us. i’m trying not to censor no matter how bad what we are feeling, because i have to stop censoring in order to unravel. but stopping the censor feels like pushing along a cart with wooden wheels that aren’t quite symmetrical, and get harder to turn at some points. like it is all pushing forward, it takes continuous effort, but sometimes we can move along with it and sometimes we have to use all our strength and then go rolling forward quicker than we wanted.

maybe we feel like they are asking us for something we can’t provide, just by being small and incoherent. uneven. we can’t let them be hurt, it comes at a cost. theywantus theyneedus theydemandus. like they blame us for their hurt, like they are asking us to fix it, reproachful that we don’t. like they’re saying that we think they’re bad.

breathe, myriad. they have their private hell just as you do, they’re entangled in it just as you are. you are not their persecutor. they are not trying to show you how much you’ve hurt them. they are simply in pain. you can let them be in pain. you’re nearly constantly in some kind of pain (physical, emotional, spiritual, mental). you don’t blame them for your private misery that predates them and will outlast any time spent with them. they have no part in it and they are not accusing you what you would not accuse them. o please breathe. you do not have to, you CANNOT fix it. you can’t even ameliorate it. not always. not even frequently. you have to let them be. you have to let yourself be. even when you are subpar. even when you cannot think of anything to say.

i’m not sleeping well. my spit tends to taste metallic – like blood. there is a memory that started surfacing on saturday and it is not gone. well really, it’s just a new piece of an old memory.

(trigger warning)

here: it’ll freeze on my tongue if i don’t say it: they cut out her tongue before they strung her up to burn. they cut it into pieces and we all had to take one into our mouths. (it dawned on me this time that there really weren’t that many of us children who had to watch. three, i think, or maybe four. i guess that makes sense.) we’d have to swallow but we weren’t allowed yet. we had to hold it in our mouths, the tip of our tongue nudging it against our bottom teeth where they could see, hold our mouths open so they could see. a little blood pooled there – maybe there was extra.

we were so intricately implicated. we took her will to speak and we held it away from her, she never spoke again. we took her voice. then later, of course, we chewed and swallowed. it would not have been so bad if we could just have swallowed. we crushed her voice, masticated it, salivated on it, rolled it with our tongue till we were familiar with every aspect of the soft-tough-rubbery-octopus-ey texture of it. and they never forced us. placed it upon our tongue, yes, told us the rules, yes, but we followed them of our own accord. followed every one of them. sat perfectly still in the greasy stinking heat of the fire. i don’t have the sounds in my memory. i know she must have screamed. i can’t even really see her, only her feet they get black first but that’s better than looking up. i feel and smell, the most. she hadn’t done anything wrong. she died because she was so good; had we been good enough, we could have saved her by taking her place. in easter, it’s an innocent. (i don’t know if this happened all the way more than once. certainly not every year.) the smell, gasoline and burning hair and barbeque all at once. i still can’t stand to smell barbeques. between that and the anthills, it’s hard to walk in residential areas during the summer.

my heart hurts and i am lonely with it. everything i put into my mouth tastes bad, especially at night. everything is something i want to repel, expel. my head hurts too.

stuck in head

i gather speed from you fucking with me. (rearviewmirror, pearl jam)

i gather speed

we got very triggered over the weekend, easter stuff, and we’re just today starting to relax from it. there’s a story to tell, maybe, but it’s not mine. and we’ve come through, and it’s therapy day, and we’ll be ok. i’m trying to breathe slow and deep this morning. i stretched my body out, realizing what i was doing wrong growing up, why i could never become flexible enough: i always stretched to the point of pain. it’s still a habit, to push as much as i can. today i reasoned with myself that if i could feel a stretch, it must be doing something. and realized how easy and pleasant it can be, and maybe that’s the road to flexibility.

anyway, that’s body, and i’m sure there’s some application there to take back to mind and spirit. it’s nothing new or deeply profound, but any angle that deepens my perception has got to be a good thing. i feel tremulous.

i’ve been having what feels like blood sugar crashes a lot lately. i think i know why: i think it’s when i eat something sweet in the morning and then nothing else to back it up. so why don’t i just stop? i had two cookies just now and i don’t feel up to making myself breakfast. i know i will pay and i should just eat now so i don’t have to. is there someone inside that likes the trembly dizzy feeling? or is trying to tell us something? i should just go eat. but nothing is easy enough.

i’m still working at settling into my free time. it’s hard to adjust quickly and gently. i’m trying to go for gently. some days we still don’t feel up to doing anything, even if there’s nothing we have to do. but the apartment is clean, and most days we have some glimmer of hope.

stuck in head

cause you don’t give blood then take it back again. (pearl jam)

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