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Thursday, July 28, 2011

Some day asking for what I want will not lead to internal torture.

I just "caught" my company smoking in our house. I said "That's not good" and "Please don't smoke in the house". My husband said "Go to bed Kelly". Nice. I just spent an hour listening to entirely inappropriate jokes, did not laugh (they weren't funny) and now for some reason it's ok for him to smoke in my house. Doesn't matter that I've asked my husband not to, I thought it was a reasonable assumption that he would respect my wishes.

So they're all mad and I am no doubt the bitch - sometime  i just fucking hate the entitlement of men. I said "There is a great big yard outside for you to smoke in". So now, the part I really hate, the part where I buy into the "I'm a bitch".

I feel like I am three and I just disagreed with my angry dad. I feel afraid, I feel unjust. And I didn't do anything wrong.

Fuck I wish I was more assertive. This is small small shit and I feel devastated. This is the kind of shit that sends me reeling into bad scary trap-laden places.

So Far (with nods to CSNY - NOT CSI NY)

Difficulty forming words, wrong word usage.
inability to focus.
Extreme and immediate rage.
Overall rotten feeling.
No censor.
Frequent crying.

On the plus side: I'm coming out of a fog

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Blog Rage...oh yeah, and DON'T PANIC

So people don't really want to hear. THEY CAN'T HANDLE IT! I don't need another voice telling me I am wallowing,  I'm not wallowing, I'm fucking drowning in sadness, in my own tears, how is this wallowing? Isn't wallowing supposed to fell good??? I feel trapped, I talk, people freak out, I ask for help, people freak out. I actually called the provincial healthline and the person was panicking, and I just wanted to talk, I was scared, I thought I maybe needed some medical attention and just wanted some  guidance, I was hoping the person wouldn't panic. Can't people just fucking listen for a fucking change? I don't want anyone to take over and fix everything (well, ok if this was possible then yes, please, sign me up) DON'T fucking panic, DON'T offer to send an ambulance, I didn't ask for one, I just wanted to know if I should see someone, as I had clearly demonstrated my ability to make a phone call, and clearly demonstrated my ability to self-assess, (hence the call for help) just ask me what's going on, ask me what I think will help, DON'T FUCKING PANIC.

So the upshot of all of this is  - in addition to feeling so sad - I now feel stripped of dignity and that Yes it is my fault I am a) not trying hard enough; b) fundamentally flawed; c) even MORE reluctant to ask for help. NOW, I'm not going to tell anyone when it's really hard because everyone I spoke to  did not want to hear.

I spent years listening to others, trying to understand trying to hear between the lines, trying to accompany them to the scene of their agony, trying to help them feel less alone. I know how hard it was for me, I guess a little empathy for my frightened loved ones is in order, but when does it ever really get to be ok to have compassion for myself without fear of it ricocheting tenfold.
I know they are scared, I am scared too, I am terrified, when will someone just be brave for me? I am so very tired of being brave.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Medication Is Moot

I need to stop reading other peoples' posts, it's so heartbreaking and it triggers so much shame, inadequacy, loneliness. I have no business responding to others', what I want is to take away everyone's pain, it's unbelievably brutal to read/hear history  after history of women who were brutalised  so young (and continue to be) and how instead of being loved and supported they were further derided and humiliated and traumatised, instead of protected, defended, comforted, loved.  I know it is true, I never doubt, it rings true with me on so many ancient levels. I am so raw, bleeding, toxic, how can this continue, be in this world where so much good should be/ is (I imagine secretly) possible? How can it be that so many still get hurt? And the tv schedule is full of more stories of women being  brutalised in physical, psychological and societal forms. There is always this undercurrent of blame the victim. I swear it romanticises being an abuser, it's so  so sick and I cannot see things getting any better here, but then I read/hear the hundreds/thousands/millions of accounts of courage in the face of this universal brutalisation of women and children. Women fighting back through the abuse-inflicted wreckage. Scrapping back, despite the terror infusing us all. Fighting just to believe their own truth. Such suffering is everywhere. I cannot bear it.  I have no  business responding to others' accounts, at best I can witness and validatePain is everywhere and I have no escape. Indeed I have no right to escape, I am trying to retain some measure of moral courage. but it is so very hard.

It is this hard when I am on medication, so the medication is moot. I want to feel, feelings cannot harm me.

Thank you , thank you to those who have the courage to question.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

No animals will be harmed

If my skin can heal - so can my brain. if my bones can heal, so can my brain. I saw my dad's heart in 1999, it was building new arteries and veins all by itself to create its own bypass. Fuck the psychiatrists and their fucking drugs. This is my TED talk. Move over woman who healed herself from a massive stroke (ok good for you and way to go, etc) - I'm making myself a project, I am testing my own theory. I am conducting my own research - participant observation. I will not test on animals, this is my ethical standard. I believe my brain can heal itself, and it can do it better without SSRIs and SNRIs to tell it to shut down any of its NATURAL processes. Clearly that has not worked, and has not worked so successfully that I have deteriorated, so I am trying something new (something old). I have to detox first to  get the pharmaceutical shit out of my system and then I am moving on. I am not going to wait for some genius to "scientifically" (Bullshit) prove that I am right. I know I'm right. It is going to work. There. Catch up later geniuses.

Fuck the medication

I'm sick of feeling numb and being a phantom. I have stopped the celexa and welbutrin. I was off the clonazepam for a couple days but decided I needed to sleep. So I took it last night, but everything else - fuck it. I was getting worse. So here's to getting better.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Apologise to our soldiers.

The morning starts with a wash of guilt,  a recital of shortcomings, tears are there in less than 30 mins. Fuck. I'm retreating further and further inside. Seeking safety? Cowering? It's all the same to me. I'm all out of courage. I want to thank the soldiers too on this day, as we near 150 years of nationhood. But how can we thank them, we should apologise instead.

We're sorry we lied to you. There is no honour. There will not be any honour. Only despair. Only death. Only your love for your comrades. Then a flag draped over you, the attention finally for you, but too late to the dance. And a "waterfall of...weeping" (Pete Townsend). A surge of patriotism on parade. Perhaps we should seek out matriotism instead. way to go! Way to die you poor (and poor) bastards! Way to believe the lies.

Don't thank our soldiers. Apologise to them. Don't let your children go to the recruiting centers. Don't. Help them find what they seek within themselves. Help them heal before you add more scar tissue.

Do not contribute to the lie. Please.