PSYCH! or rather SNAP!

Just got a call from the clinic, no Dr. Passey in this week, thus my case was not discussed, thus one more week until my "case" is discussed.

Crappity-crap-crap.

I am now blogging for health central, the latest is Anxiety, Depression and PTSD . Guess I'll just go between in an alternating type fashion.

Jane

A very dear family friend, my 5th sister, is extremely ill. The likely not coming back kind of ill. Everyone who knows her is currently going through all manner of shock/grief response. Me, I don't feel anything.I think I'm in serious lockdown mode. I feel like a horrid freak. There is no reason not to feel anything. And I don't think I am in shock or anything like that.

It's not about me.

Please live Jane, we're even not remotely prepared to say goodbye. You are a gracious, hilarious, beautiful woman. Please live.

Happy Lab Rat

Shame has been on my mind a great deal lately. I am a very fortunate person, with many things and people in my life to feel grateful for, but gratitude eludes me. I try to feel grateful, I do. Sometimes there is a fleeting permeation of peace: reassuring yet elusive as w(h)ell. Shame however is, as they say, another story. Persistent. Shame for intervening too late, shame for an ill-judged intervention, shame in my gelid state of cowardice.

In the news people everywhere are fighting to survive. Our planet is markedly void of peace. I believe in our capacity for goodness, believe that goodness is our default state. We are drawn astray. Our childhood deprivations become our internal stealth guides.  We are not aware. We seek power to assuage powerlessness. Wealth to erase neglect. What was externally toxic claims our self. We become our abuse.

I wonder about my drugs. Wonder if I am further crippling my brain. My brain has the capacity to heal itself. I fear the drugs interfe(a)re. HA, a pun of sorts! I want off. before my desire to want out wins.

My Veteran's Affairs Case Manager has suggested I be "assessed" by an OSI Clinic in Vancouver (OSI - Operational Stress Injury - yeesh, why can't the military just use the words already there, talk about reinventing the wheel). I have agreed to it, maybe there are other things to help, maybe acupuncture? Maybe a couple of short laser blasts into my brain? Lick a socket??? Apparently my GP and Psychologist have decreed I meet the criteria for Long Term Disability. LTD - sadly not a fancy car. I want to feel better, although it is fun being a drama queen - LOOKATMELOOKATME!!!!!

I am happy to be a lab rat. I said I would be part of a study if it meant I could undergo some as yet unsanctioned (ideally controversial - so I can achieve my dream of being a superhero) treatment. But I am (no surprise) afraid. Some of the staff at the clinic were military. I fear being found an imposter. Fear that what is wrong with me is a fundamental, genetically flawed state. A factory second. Defect. Marked down for quick sale.

Oh boy.

Puppy needs outside.

Warning: Anatomically Correct Memory

My body keeps my oral history. Or better, lingual or (warning overused word approaching) metaphysical??Well. Body memories are dogged, I have worked very hard to dis-connect from my body (or maybe that was just an autopilot thing) but sometimes, they launch. usually in my genital area. I'll never be certain why. I have some ideas, but never certainty. Sometimes its oddly reassuring because if this is what I was dealt as a toddler (for some reason I'm thinking 2-3 yrs) then it explains everything about me. The lack of boundaries, the passiveness, the weak joints (oh yes, I put up as big a struggle as my little self could). Knees, Hips, Shoulders, all have made their presence known over the years. When one is held down, one fights, one fights, one fights...then stops because it doesn't work. Doesn't work. The promiscuity. The LACK OF SELF ESTEEM. The GHOST PRESENCE. I fought - my body confirms I did, but no one noticed = I don't exist, because if I did, someone would have noticed and helped me, right??can't change that. Can't know. can't know in a way I can comprehend and put to rest. My body is trying to help me, I guess. Some sort of reenactment where I get the chance to experience without the danger, a kind of self-EMDR (does this work?). Except that I fight again, i think STOP STOP, I push with all my might, I  remain terrified. Terror is my invisibility cloak. I wear it everyday, no ones sees. It's molten, it's fused to my skin. Physical intimacy fraught with dread. I have been robbed of so much. Many, so many of us, robbed of life before we even know we are alive. There's no pawn shop with serial numbers of our souls. We cannot reclaim.I live with this mystery. It is coloured outside of the lines. So my art is as well. And my alarm system is in on.

A Picture is Worth...etc.

Couldn't recall if I'd posted this before.
A little of me - a little of others.

Weathering Emotional Umbrellas...

Emotions travel in packs. They set upon you from all dimensions. When I was working I called emotions like anger an "umbrella" emotion because there were so many more different feelings wrapped up in it, but anger is the societally accepted label. Frustration is another one, discouragement, sadness, helplessness, etc. Spectrum feelings. No feeling exists in a vacuum. No feeling exists on its own.  It's a sociological phenomenon as well as psychological.

Whatever, I had a thought last night and though I could write about it, I haven't written in a long time. I feel reluctant to write now, I know it helps me detox yet it's a struggle to let myself succumb to writing about them. It's twisted that way, I know I need a ventilation system. So just write Kel, be in the moment and reach inwards, there is always something to say if i just keep at it. it doesn't matter if it is relevant to anyone else, yet I hope it is. I feel so alone, and I self-isolate, so it's an chicken and egg thing too.

We are conceived in a group, we develop inside another person, we don't start out in  this world being alone, we are never alone and yet loneliness can assail us. Neglect, deprivation in all their forms. I get hurt so I stay away. I crave acceptance yet dread the idea of feeling un-special. This is a relentless battle I imagine  everyone struggles with, how do we give our uniqueness and similarities a balance of attention and nourishment??

Treating different people the same ways gets different outcomes. However we are influenced - biologically, organically, socially, etc., equality of opportunity does not guarantee equity. How do I celebrate rather than denigrate my self. What are the real character flaws, which are the imagined ones?

Anyhow, I am feeling uninspired writing wise. Bye.

Puppy Love

Too much traffic in my head. Things darting in and out like angry rabbits, memories, feelings, judgments taking little nips at me then skittering away. Some don't dart, some sink in their damning maws and draw  blood. My puppy is in my head. Not so surprisingly I suppose, he has become a clear window through which to see - even more glaringly - how passive and frightened I am. all the time. Although the intent was for him to be my dog as therapy as nonjudgmental role model for me, but in 3 short wks I am not alpha - K. is -  and I am not assertive enough. I have so much fear, and puppy reads me rather well. I try to be the calm assertive Dog Whisperer advises, but I am neither. It's not his fault. I watch my partner with him and there is this easy strength (although he gets frustrated too), he plays with the dog in a way I realize I have no clue about. I don't know how to play. I feel threatened  and he reads. I feel uncertain and he reads. Such a little scholar. He is beautiful and lovely and likes my company but clearly sees K as the one to go to. So my little lonely self feels abandoned.

Trigger happy. I am in my head rending, churning out as much evidence as it can, elucidating failures. I am feeling rather starkers (yes, naked and raving). There are much worse things in the world than to have a constant reminder of my doormat-self. I'm trying to escape but this overriding (or underpinning - either way I'm surrounded) sense of  doom does tend to shred one. Dispirited are us. I have black and white positions, fear and attack. I just want it to go away, I want to stop feeling so bad inside. I'm becoming more and more convinced that it's just not gonna happen. So bleak so spare this inner terrain,  I am a miracle of lichen surviving under harsh conditions. How does a mind (using the term loosely) get this way, I mean it's a rhetorical question as I believe I have some pretty good ideas about that, but it's crying out from within, I just don't want to hurt anymore, is it too much to ask? I didn't ask for it so someone something please take it away. Have I been so awful that i am meant to feel punished and unliveable, I have not earned a life so it would seem. Yet I am here, awash in this excreta. Increta really, it's inside and it's all been said, felt thought before. I am by no means charting new waters here, and so I feel ashamed to ask for so much. So much. Don't I have enough all ready? But I'm going through some motions, others I am not even trying. I'm not living my own life, someone else should have been given this chance, I appear to be wasting mine away. I wrestle with writing all this down in public, I rationalise by saying I can put my thoughts down quicker and not miss so much in my efforts to houseclean, yet I know I also want to be seen, and loved. I don't love me though. Others profess too but it rolls off like rain over oil. There's nothing worth loving in here I whisper. Give your love where it will do some good.

I pop my pills and there is less edge, but it's still looming out there, very close, willing me to just go, slip over. I'm still here, so something is keeping me going, but I'm not happy about it. Ha. ha.