Partie Deux

My therapist is encouraging me to honour my rage, as a means to honour my feelings whilst keeping me safe from harm. It is so tricky to allow myself to express it, I think it is why i appreciate hard physical labour so much. We talked about swimming and the other day I felt so good after a very challenging hike (clearly haven't been hiking too strenuously lately).

I feel held hostage by the intensity of my feelings and I know, I know, that keeping them inside is so much more dangerous for me. My fuse is so short.

So what does honouring my anger look like?  Is it like the guys who place the charges on the mountainside in order to trigger a safer avalanche? is it like deliberately setting a fire to burn a patch of forest to prevent the out of control fire from jumping across? Is it that volcano I saw in Costa Rica (Arenal) that erupts just a little everyday so it doesn't blow like St Helen's? I guess so since I was coming up with these metaphors (?) that speak to me.

I talked about blogging and that I thought it was helpful. The physicality of typing is a necessary component, there needs to be some sort of physical expression coinciding with the words I choose to record.

So the strenuous hike, so healthy for all the reasons. perhaps a bit more screaming into my pillow.
Swimming, a strong stroke.
Swimming in Maui helped keep me grounded for sure.

I have been picking up and putting down my art, this is the most frustrating part, I cannot, or at least feel unable to, work on my art, that is how rattled I am.

What happened today was so utterly unjust. It explains how shattered I feel right now. My feelings attest to the reality of this harsh experience for me.

Ugliness. Punished for standing up for myself.

Scuttled

feeling really fucked over by a friend and an entitled male who decided to make me into the person (I was nearly convinced myself) who was creating all of the problems.

I find it so challenging to stand my ground when I am in conflict with someone who is seems to feel so completely right and justified and even outraged in their view of how things went bad (methinks the not-gentleman doth protested too much?). So yes I got derailed, had moments of strength but felt so intimidated and unnerved by this person's aggressively expressed convictions that I was the one doing wrong. I think now that it was a case of someone who knows they are behaving disrespectfully, on some level, but their denial of it is so fierce they cannot see let alone speak with clarity. It completely unhinged me. Their anger, their loud voice their demand that I explain myself, very intimidating and frightening for me. What I did was ask that we keep the agreement that we made. He accused me of dictating what should happen. He clearly saw himself as a victim. WOW. I honestly felt so scuttled I did not know where to go or what to say. I felt like I was trying to hide.

Very difficult to address. Feeling very beat up and, worse, unsupported aka thrown to the wolves by the friend in attendance. Perhaps the friend felt they had no choice but to mollify (the man, not me) because that was what they did, in my perspective anyway.

And yes, will discuss with safe real friends in order to explore what I could have done differently/better. That was definitely not a safe venue to be vulnerable.

Although I am reminded that the clarity resulting from this experience -  of having my instincts about a person so undeniably confirmed - will eventually serve as very concrete evidence to boost confidence in my ability to assess who I allow in my safe circle.

Eventually anyway.

Right now I feel really beat up and exhausted. And so so saddened that this so-called - now clearly former - friend did NOT have my back. NOT.

So a couple months from now my commitment to these 2 people will be complete and I can move on. Very sad.
Argh.

A really great day

today was a really great day. Full of being outside, good friends and good talks. Felt something almost like peace, can't remember the last time, very grateful I was able to feel this good today.

the flood

so tired but can't sleep. 24 days since no effexor
filled with rage
so very little patience
despairing
i have made appts with the people who have helped me in the past so there is that
i have no tolerance for bullshit
no tolerance for inauthentic people
no tolerance for myself it seems
i feel like i am running away from myself as hard as i can but i still find me and it is death it is destruction chasing me disguised as me it's so confusing and terrifying and only so very few people i can tell
i am so scared so worried i am not to going to make it like i am trapped in a flood watching myself hopelessly ebb away
helpless to do anything but lay down and hope, Hope, hope it will pass
awww sweet tears
i feel so alone but i impose it on myself
i am toxic
 i am poison and my angry outbursts make it so
leave me lone so i can die
please don't leave me alone
i cannot find any solid ground or thought
everything shifts under my tentative feet
so maybe i should stop moving but then death will find me am trying to help myself trying
everything else must need fall away

Listen as Hard as you can

up too early, exhausted. ate too much before bed. cried a ton yesterday. there is a threat against my dog, he doesn't know what's going on. feeling like a failure.
Off my antidepressants, tired of the many side affects and I was still depressed. what a racket.
So I'm trying to resume the neurofeedback, to get grounded to feel desperate.
My companion  suicide is louder and my resolve to keep alive dwindles I am not built to thrive in this world.
Stephen Fry advises people not to ask "Why?" when someone says they are depressed. Good, cause
I don't fucking know. And it's only my business. I wish I felt there was more people I could call and talk to but as is so often the case, when I mention depression or suicide, people start talking and stop listening. I understand they are afraid, I understand they want to help. Listening to someone talk about their depression is really hard. Being a really good listener is very hard.
So if you want to help, listen, listen as hard as you can.
That shows you care.

Death infusion

felt sick today with migraine so popped some 222's and slept in, Ken walked Strider.

some of my painted work

I am glad I do not have children, I think I would have been a terrible presence. I feel like one in Ken's and Strider's lives. So anxious. I wonder if K wonders if this will be the day he hears about me or finds me. This potential of him going through that trauma (will he feel devastated, relieved?) is what keeps me alive. The worry he might (I don't know) feel must really wear at him. Truth sometimes I resent that , it's weird kind of catch-22 that I want so desperately to be loved and simultaneously resent those who profess to love me (I don't love, how can you?), feel like it's emotional blackmail. But I don't say this to anyone because that feels pretty hurtful, manipulative. Ken works hard to be a very positive person.

I am feeling a glimpse of what it must feel like to be happy because of the 222 afterglow. I would like very much to feel this way naturally.  I have compulsive thoughts quite frequently. those longings for comfort that lead me to choose to scour my cupboard and consume whatever is there, that in the past made me choose to drink a lot, shop a lot, and other worse riskier things.

Glad my crisis has passed, these are quite horrible. A kind of unrelenting, bleak despair permeates deep into my skin, into my organs, my bones. It's not chemotherapy it's a wave death infusing then eventually passing through til next time. Blah.

1000 skirmishes

Another bad morning I am swimming in sadness it's good to release but I despair

Losing my fight feels like a fight every day sometimes I feel like there are 1000 little skirmishes going on in my brain some days it feels like I'm just watching the nuclear warhead drop on my head and wondering if I'll make out the sun is shining today the sun doesn't do anything except make me feel guilty for not being outside

This microphone helps but I have no it's not a stream of consciousness or it is not amenable to a stream of consciousness writing which typing or handwriting does perhaps if I articulated
Articulation feels like editing and sometimes when I feel so sad I words cannot get out fast enough and the bottleneck gets excited thinking "we're coming out we're coming out" but I choke more on the words it didn't make it. This is me sighing.

Is one that I think about all the time that I've never ever sit here headed to two people now is it spam so very fight fear afraid of hurting people I don't have homicidal thoughts I fear that me speaking my truth will prove so devastating to those who love me, yet if I am truly loved my truth cannot be rejected by those who love me.

My multiplying gathering densifying black hole of fears and sucking me inside if I give room to my feelings and I give room for me to come back to emerge from this maelstrom this.

I just lost a whole bunch of writing sucks I had been talking about the diff the critical difference between giving up and what acting on suicidal thoughts feels like it's not giving up it's running out of energy