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Well, for those of you playing along at home, you may have picked up on "Quitter" that I wasn't only referring to Camp Fire Girls and Job's Daughters but about my life. Raise a hand if you caught the barely veiled references to suicide. Anyone?

If you don't know it yet, I brought that bit of prose to my therapist and, on her very strong urging, I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital for Thanksgiving. 

I was in there for a week. The first two days I spent most of my time in my room. I came out to the Day Room for meals and meds, I was examined by a physician, and I went to a couple of group sessions. While the group sessions were fine, they were nothing earth-shaking. The meds were supposed to be what I brought, but the pharmacy apparently would rather bend me over provide me with their meds rather than use what I brought and somehow everything got messed up and I was off my two primary meds for three days, and off one of them for another two after that! So I was experiencing weird withdrawal symptoms as well as being in a strange place both spatially and mentally. 

I am a Mystery

So said my therapist today. It takes awhile for a therapist and client to get to know each other, and for the therapist to discover important things about the client. I have a history of surprising or dumbfounding my therapists.

All of this stuff — the being barely functional, the depression, the anxiety, the paralysis — she thought was just since Mom died. Some things are so old-hat to me that I don't think to mention them, or else I think I already have.

Today's session was fairly free-ranging due to my unfocused and sedated mind. (My psych bumped me up to 4 mg of Lorazepam a day, which can be taken singly or in combination not to exceed two, and rather than diminishing my anxiety, it's just sedating me, which kind of increases my anxiety.) I led Karen the Wonder Therapist all over the place.

Eventually, I got stuck talking about my ex. This is the guy I moved in with and lived with for three years. This is the guy I wanted, and fully expected, to marry and have children with. This is the guy who so diminished and battered me verbally and emotionally that I think he broke something important inside me. This is the issue that Karen thinks may be more important to explore than the sexual abuse. And when we got to where I said I felt as if something had been broken inside me from my relationship with him, she thought for a moment and then said, "You are a Mystery." She had just discovered that my dysfunctions didn't start with Mom's dying. She perceived more of the big picture that is me.

I kind of like being a Mystery (yes, the capital M matters), but I'd rather be a Mystery for something more cool than my mental and emotional dysfunctions.

Current homework: attack the estate bills in small increments, earning computer privileges. Karen is one savvy therapist.

Homework

I finished my homework for tomorrow: four hand-written pages of memories from last summer. I hand write it to make it more personal and immediate. For some reason, while I can write faster using a keyboard, I feel a distance between me and what I write. I am also more prone to edit as I write when I'm on a keyboard. I'll have to address this when I begin writing my own stuff again; I don't want to be distant from that.

In case you're wondering, I wrote about the end of Mom's radiation through her first fall --- a total of 2-3 weeks. I am constantly surprised at the amount of information I can bring up when I am writing about it. There is a lot of worry and fear in this part of the story. We were both still hopeful and optimistic at this point.

There is less than four weeks from the end of this week's homework until Mom died. I want to make that homework end the Sunday before an appointment, not on a week I don't have an appointment. It's going to be hard.

I've been thinking about the anniversary of Mom's death. I don't want to just hang out alone in my apartment here. I think that would be very bad. A friend suggested I do a peaceful ritual, which sounds nice. But I think I also need some people for the rest of the time around it, to help me not completely drown in grief. I'm just not sure what. I used to be a very decisive person.

So accomplishments today. Not too bad. And leaves me in an emotionally vulnerable place, just right for therapy tomorrow. Sigh. Yippee.

Homework in the Aether

Karen the Wonder Therapist had a good idea today: how about I write my homework for my blog post once a week. I'm writing almost daily for the blog, so I already have the time available and habitual. And either post it, because this is a blog about my therapy and growth, or delete it and just bring it to her, if it seems inappropriate or too much information to give.

It makes sense. I'm already writing, most of the time I'm already writing about my state of mind or my therapy, so I'm in the right attitude. But I wonder if my therapy homework would be wrong for my blog. It's details of a trauma; currently the trauma involving my mom. Of course, I can always not post it on the blog and just use the time for my homework.

The other thing that concerns me is that I write this blog around 9 pm, or later. That's not prime deep thinking time for me. I would do better to write my homework earlier in the day, no later than between 7 and 8 pm.

However, it's a very good idea and I will give it a chance. If it helps, then I win!

Today's therapy was mostly talking. We talked about how not to get too negative and too focused on what I'm afraid of (money, work). We talked about how I forget planned tasks and activities and how to remember them: my current idea is to print out the week's and day's tasks and post them in the places I go to a lot: kitchen and bathroom. Then I would always see them. The rest of it currently escapes me, but I'm sure it will come back.

After therapy, I did my usual post-therapy walk and grocery shopping, then a stop at a favorite fast-food place for lunner (late lunch/early dinner). Then that was the end of the productive part of my day.

I feel okay today. I've been a bit down; I know it will pass. Feeling lonely and wanting my mom is all. I had a good mom — I knew I could go to her and she would help me and reassure me (mind you, she did better at this when I was an adult, and not so good when I was a kid). She was my safety net. So, just missing her.

I Am Me

Ever since Karen the Wonder Therapist talked to me about some of my distorted thinking (Broken Thoughts), I haven't been thinking those thoughts. I don't think that I am Lost or Floating or Untethered. It could be that I am having sufficiently good days right now that I don't feel those things. Or it could be that simply having talked about them and being given truthful counter-arguments was enough. It will take some time, and some bad days, to see which it is.

I like saying to myself that I am not untethered: I am grounded by my values and my beliefs. These are part of me, something I continue to believe even if I never read another book about them or even talk about them. My values and my beliefs are my bedrock, even during times when I have broken thoughts. Given that I have had those thoughts to some extent off and on through my life (well, I did think of my mom as my anchor, no matter what), I never thought that I was grounded, or had a rock-solid foundation, or that I had a center. I now I know that I do. Oddly, feeling like this, having counter-arguments to these false thoughts, makes me feel free, even though I am feeling kind of crappy tonight.

The trauma and cognitive work seem like magic to me: they appear to have strong and immediate effects. The behavioral, well, that is very different and so far is slow going. At least I think about the better behaviors, the behaviors that will take me to where I want to be, which is important. Sometimes I need a lot of repetition to learn something (which didn't quite work with the times table, unfortunately; I still use my fingers). Behavioral change appears to be one of those somethings.

I am grateful that I have found therapists, both now and in the past, whom I clicked with right off. Each has helped me to some extent. So far, in a much shorter period, Karen has achieved more than any of my other therapists did, aside from the therapy that helped me with issues from childhood sexual abuse that my first therapist did. However, that took longer than change is taking place now and thereafter we didn't make much progress on anything else. I don't know that I would have had the nerve to keep looking for someone I clicked with if that first therapist hadn't.

I still need a lot of work — there is still a lot of distorted or traumatized junk inside me — but I have so much more hope that I'll get over all, or nearly all, of my debilitating thoughts, feelings, and behaviors through working with Karen. Luckily for me she's still fairly young (a year or two younger than me), so she won't be retiring anytime soon! I need her to help me out here!

If only there were a therapist who could help me make money.

Broken Thoughts

I mentioned earlier that a blog I read had a post about Fear the other day; I may have mentioned that Fear and I are really far too close for my comfort. Even just reading the blog and the comments, most of which were about how others deal with fear and overcome fear, made all my fear reactions stand on end and I had to take a pill to calm me. I do not want to be that woman who "must take a little pill to calm me down."

Well, today was therapy. As I had not done my homework, we talked of other things, such as fear and how I'm doing on my behavior changes (we looked at what I had succeeded at, not what I didn't do, thank you Julie). The talk about fear merged into talk about some feelings I have that are pretty constant. I have quite a few, but we talked about how lost I feel, how I feel as if I'm floating, and how I feel untethered. That's when Karen the Wonderful Therapist took me through some focused Cognitive Therapy.

These thoughts are lies that my mind tells me and the only way to fix the distortions and overcome the lies (eventually getting rid of them altogether) is to combat them with truths. Luckily for me, she outlined true statements for me to use, because if we'd left it to me, I'd still be in her office!

For example, when I hear myself saying that I'm floating, I counter with I'm not floating. I am moving in a direction. I am making choices daily. For one thing, I choose to be in therapy to help me move in the direction I want. And that's all true. But I feel as if I need to write notes on my hands and arms to remember it all.  :)  Perhaps just a folded up cheat sheet I carry around.

It was very weird, hearing her statements for me to use to respond to these fear-based distortions in my head. I could really perceive the power of opposing these thoughts with true statements. For one thing, I have to think through the truths, so it's not just a mindless phrase to throw at an issue. And thinking will make it all stick better. It's like when I write something down, I remember it better, even if I don't reread what I wrote. (Not applicable to all things — I have to reread the truth responses to these first three distortions because they are complicated enough that I can't yet remember them off the top of my head.)

A lot of what I'm doing right now behaviorally and cognitively relates to grounding me, creating a foundation to build on. This same concept is what my outside life is about as well: I need to basically build a new life, and I don't have a stable foundation for it, either. The therapeutic work I'm doing will most likely help me to do the outside work; as one part stabilizes, so will the other parts. 

This is all more or less clear in my head. I'm not sure it's as clear on this blog. I can't say I know where I'm going yet. But I can say that I have a lot more hope that I will get there, wherever it is.

This is the Best. Therapy. EVAH!

Baby Steps? Maybe for a Baby Bird!

Sunday:

Tiny, little, eensy baby steps. I did wash my dishes from my meals (but not from my evening snack yet). I did two smaller tasks and one load of laundry, but haven't approached my therapy homework or the two projects I have to do for other people. I did the easy stuff, basically. But I did something.

I still didn't leave the apartment. I did not do any exercise inside. And I have not picked up around the place. Still, I did something.

I tend to have overly high expectations for myself, making disappointment almost a given. The only way to avoid disappointment is to refrain from expectations. That is one of the things I am working toward.

Update: I did do my therapy homework, but that was it for the evening. No dishes.

Monday:

Today was therapy, and we discussed my plans. Karen believes that setting up the basic living habits — getting up, showering and getting dressed, and leaving the apartment, even to pick up my mail, which I should do daily — are fundamental. The extent to which a person lacks the basic living habits shows the extent of a person's depression. Guess where I am. So we agreed that getting those basic habits, plus adding a minor thing to work toward healthy eating habits (a fruit and a vegetable a day; or maybe it was a fruit or a vegetable a day — I'll do what I can without over stressing about it), is essential. These things will form the foundation on which to begin rebuilding my life skills, and, my life.

Today I went to therapy, went for a walk, went to the grocery store, filled the car with gas (when it was almost out), picked up some not-excessively unhealthy fast food, and that ended the productive portion of my day. I then watched movies on my laptop for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

Tomorrow, I begin doing the basics. I'll keep track and post.

As for therapy: I did my homework, we went over it, and I cried. Not as cathartic as previously, but it was a shorter piece and it was a less-emotional piece. I think that the real catharsis and "emptying" occurs when the emotional content is higher, and the trauma greater.

Not a thrilling post. Just one of those daily kind. I expect there will be a lot of those, as I begin my new Self-Rebuilding procedure.

Therapy knocked me down and made me cry

Yeah, that therapy is a big ol' bully. Makes me cry. Makes me look at things that hurt me. Knocks me clear on my butt and leaves me sore and tired all the rest of the day. Sheesh.  Therapy is a mean muthuh.

What made me cry? Well, we talked about Mother's Day. I didn't get teary or even emotional yesterday. But I cried on Saturday because someone told me she was aware that this, my first one without Mom, would be extra hard and that she was thinking of me. No one else said anything to me, until they read the blog. Not my oldest friends. Not my mom's friends; not even her best friend who was supposed to adopt me. I felt ignored and that the people who say they care simply didn't think about me or felt it wasn't important. I felt even more alone and isolated than ever.

So when Karen-the-therapist and I began talking about it, I began crying. The more we talked about it and how I felt and why, the harder I cried. I even became inarticulate from time to time, I was crying so hard. It just wouldn't stop, all my feelings of loneliness and missing Mom and feeling that my friends don't think of me (whether they do or not, this is how I feel) came flooding out. 

I was a mess.

I read something in a blog comment today that really bothered me. Someone had written in about how isolated and hurting she felt, and how hard it was to see how well the blog author was doing after a year and the woman who wrote in felt she'd made no progress. 

One of the commenters was trying to be helpful and going on about how the only person you can count on is you, that only you can do this stuff, and you always have to do it alone. Except, I don't think the commenter is all alone. I think she has family. When you have backup, even if you are doing things yourself, you are not in isolation. It bothered me because I truly am doing things all alone and I'm not doing so well or quickly. It's harder than the commenter made it out to be. But I didn't want to be mean on the blog, even though I didn't think it was good advice to the woman who had written in.

So many of my buttons were pushed in therapy: loneliness, abandonment, fear of total isolation and friendlessness, anger that someone has diminished my experience. And therapy caused me to live through and describe each one, which hurt like hell.

That's how therapy beat me up, knocked me down, and made me cry.

Stole my lunch money too, but you have to pay for the privilege.

Changing my mind

Warning: This is an exceptionally long post, even tho' I cut and cut and cut. Sorry. You can skip this one if you like.

I've had many world views over my life, and many religious and philosophical beliefs.  When I was in elementary school, and my little brother was in kindergarten, we went to a Mormon afterschool program. it's like Sunday school, but during the week. I learned about God and baptism and heaven and hell. The whole God thing didn't make sense to me. I couldn't accept that He would discard people who hadn't ever heard some version of HIS message or that He would punish babies who hadn't been baptized. So at 11 or 12, sitting in the kitchen with my mom and my little brother, I announced I was an agnostic. 

You would think I'd announced I was an axe murderer and could I start with my little brother. Mom told me if I ever said that again, she'd tell my father. I wondered inside if she thought he'd beat me into believing in God. (For the record, my father spanked us very seldom.)

I had the fairly typical "jesus freak" stage at 15-16. I went to church with my best friend and her family. I went to Youth Group. i went to Bible studies. I wanted more than anything to fit in, and those groups claimed to love everyone. My parents weren't any more thrilled by my evangelistic Christianity than with my agnosticism. Once away from that environment, my belief faded and was entirely gone by the time I entered college.

The balance between gravity and flight

Tonight, I and several friends spent time on Facebook accomplishing a group project and it spawned a great deal of activity; double-, triple-, and quadruple-checking; and laughter. It has also left me with the jittery feelings that come when I let loose the dogs of hypomania, to completely destroy a phrase. The feeling is the same as when I was in college and didn't know about mania and mood swings and crashes as anything other than the regular feelings I experienced and assumed that many others experienced as well. 

In my 20s, I always encouraged and followed that emotional arrow as it flew up and up, past the birds, then the clouds, sometimes clear into the lower Earth orbit. The arrow would halt there, for a moment, balanced almost perfectly between both up and down forces, and that moment of balance was better than alcohol, better than pot, better than sex. However, gravity always won and the emotional arrow would plummet down, faster and faster until it achieved terminal velocity and crashed into the solid Earth, leaving me exhausted, in a vicious mood, confused, and often ill. 

When my first therapist first talked to me about controlling my highs in order to control the crashes, I was ferociously against it. I was convinced I would lose my personality, be some dull drone. I knew I would lose my creativity and my whimsy and spontaneity. It was another 3 years or so before I gave in and, tired of the crashes, began to recognize and control the arrow as it flew upward. I was relieved beyond words to see that it didn't kill my creativity or those parts of my personality that I valued so much. In fact, I think it made those facets better by virtue of my achieving some control. Later, when we decided to go further and add a medication layer of control, I wasn't so dead set against that. I'd grown accustomed to and grateful for control and the loss of those crashes.

In the past few years, I've also learned that I do have a cycling mood disorder and that the medication doesn't remove the cycling, it only dampens it. The rest is still up to me. I didn't have any awareness of those cycles until a friend who had gotten to know me very well and who has a keen perception pointed out to me that I fell into these phases where I would feel as if rabid hamsters were running on wheels in my mind and I couldn't control them. During those times, I would become dramatic and sure that the very worst thing that could happen would happen. These phases happened, he pointed out, every three weeks. Nothing I could lay to female hormones. 

Now that I've become aware of those three-week events, I've been able to perceive and control them. Over the  years I've come to appreciate control. So do my OCD and my PTSD and my hypervigilance and my regular anxiety ....

A laundry list of sadness

I'm still feeling good, and waiting for the hammer to come down. (Sorry, Mable, I haven't read your link yet.) I know I have to change that way of thinking. There is also the quote that you can view the Universe as either friendly or hostile, and whichever one you view it as is what you get. Of course, the writer didn't mention neutral.  :)  I've felt it was hostile since I was very little.

I'm not sure if it's more useful for me to talk about my issues in the order that I'm doing them in therapy, or just as they come to my head. I'm OCD enough that I want order. I'm an Air sign, which means spontaneity. It's very confusing.

Okay, why I think the hammer will always come down and destroy my happiness. The facts:

I was molested by a cousin starting when I was 2; the first time it was him, age 5, and another cousin age 8. My mom and aunts found us in a closet and laughed it off as playing doctor, as if a 2-year-old had any choice in the matter. 

My cousin continued off and on until I was 11. His final act was to say he wouldn't bother me again until I was 17. Way to keep me in fear. That 3 year difference was always a huge power differential, and since the first, I was completely in his control, and knowing it was wrong and uncomfortable. My parents had told me, in front of him: do what he says. He knows more than you. I was to always do what anyone older than me said. Way to go with the protection, Mom and Dad.

He wasn't happy just touching me and stuff. He also had to terrorize me with terrible things that would happen to me. Monsters, when we were little. Psychopaths when we were older. I think my cousin was a sociopath.

My grandfather molested me once when I was 11 or 12. I was glad he died the next year.

I never told anyone about any of this until I went to therapy at 23. Then I eventually told my mom. She didn't take it well at first and it took her a year or so to be able to talk to me about it without making it kind of my fault for not telling her and Dad.

There's some less horrific stuff in between.

When I was 16, we moved 1100 miles away from everything I'd ever known. Nine months later my father died. He had a major heart attack while playing catch with my little brother in the backyard. Our neighbor had CPR instructions on a card and tried to do compressions. I'd had first aid two year previously and I did mouth-to-mouth. He died anyway.

Five years later, just before my mom remarried, to a guy I disliked from the first, my little brother, my treasure, committed suicide five days before my 22nd birthday.

The rest is fairly basic, and then there is Mom from last year. When things start going well, something horrible or simply bad happens. I have very little trust, for good reason, even in myself.  So it's an uphill battle in sand.

Now you know more. Ah, so much work to do, it can be daunting. It tires me out. And that's all I can manage to write tonight.

Wow. I used to be able to do this like it was a news report. Apparently no longer. My stomach hurts now and I'm feeling very emotional. Such a major change for me, and I think this is supposed to be a good one. Wish it felt good.

Alphabet soup

OCD. PTSD. ADD/ADHD. MOUSE. Some days I think my own name ought to be something like THX 1138. (Geeks will get it.)

OCD: Basically, I feel obsessed about certain things, or compelled toward certain actions, or both. For me, it's tidiness and organization. So why is my apartment chaos incarnate? Just look at my mind and my heart: I'm a total mess, paralyzed with pain and anxiety and depression. The worse the untidiness and disorganization, the more it pains me and makes things worse. When I make even one small area clean and tidy, I feel the very muscles in my body relax noticeably. 

I also have an compulsion toward collecting things. That one I've been controlling, until now. I have so many catalogs and magazines I haven't even read yet. Oh, and I collect notebooks and blank journals. When I go through my storage, I will find a large box of them. Mom hated my collection of them, but I stood my ground and would let her make me get rid of the better ones. Collections make me feel stable and rooted and protected.

Lost in the aisles

In therapy today, we wandered. I neglected to do my homework last week due to the usual, plus some days where I couldn't sleep until 3 am. (I am feeling somewhat better, which means I cannot get away without my homework next week.)

Instead of homework, we talked about other things. Last week, when I was making a comparison to illustrate how I felt at one point, I told her a story about something that happened when I was a child. It happened several times: I lost my parents in a department store. I would stop to look at something and when I was done I'd look around and they would be nowhere near me. I'd go from aisle to aisle looking, panic growing inside me. When I was too short to look over the top of the aisles, it was like I was caught in a maze; even when I went to the same aisle again (in case my parents were looking for me), it looked different. And I never asked another person for help. 

I always found them. And every time they'd say "Oh? You were lost? We didn't know that." Way to go folks. Kind of lost parenting points there. Even to this day, I stay close to friends when I'm shopping with them because I feel that panic start to rise if I cannot find them immediately.

Since my mom's death, I've experienced a lot of that lost, panicky feeling. Today my therapist told me something she'd forgotten to say last week, which was that she sees me being in that place of being lost and unable to find my family — permanently. And now I have to find a way to become okay with myself and with being here. Without my parents, my brother. Just me.

The idea of being lost in the department store for the rest of my life punched me in the stomach I know she didn't mean it that literally, but I am a literal person in unexpected ways. And I kind of do feel as if I am lost in the department store. One of the darkly funny things about that is that some of the scariest movies I've ever seen — seen when I was a kid — took place in department stores.

Have you ever been lost? Did you look for your parents, or did they look for you? Who was panicking and who was calm? I've known kids who felt it was their parents who were lost, not themselves. No panic. Just hanging out doing what they wanted until their parents came running to find them. These kids didn't understand why their parents were so upset. I suppose I have to become that kid, because no one is going to run around looking for me.

What do you think are the qualities a person needs to adapt to the department store, to being alone? Yes, i know I have friends, good friends, but in the end, it is me and my aisle in the store and no one running around trying to find me. I've got to get home by myself this time. I'm not sure how.

Exploring pain

Therapy was rough today. In fact, it hurt like hell. And this is going to be a very long post explaining why.

I told Karen that she needed to be the leader, because if left to my own devices I tend to wander, especially if I dread the topic of the day. So today we jumped back into the trauma therapy and continued to read the first section I'd written about.

Now, this first section only covers from the point I found out about Mom's cancer to the point where I got on a plane to fly home.  There is a lot more geography to cover, hills and valleys and even fruited plains (truly — there were clover fields between Mom's house and the cancer center that we watched go from green to greener to magenta to ... mowed, and I didn't manage to get a photograph, even though I passed those fields five days a week). Given such a small section of the whole, it seems reasonable to think that there could be only a small amount of emotional trauma to discover. Even as I read through what I'd written, I felt little emotion ... until near the end when I spoke of the fear I felt. That's when I began to weep.

I expected that, from our last session doing trauma therapy. Weep a little, recover a little. Before we began, I grabbed a tissue because I knew I'd need it.

Then Karen began working me deeper into my experience and my feelings from that time, almost a year ago. I went through a second tissue and started on a third. She asked about my mom and about our relationship and meaningful conversations we'd had. We laughed at one or two of my stories.

I had no idea how deep we could go, how far back emotions can connect and resonate. We reached the topic of how I feel with Mom gone, how mothers can be anchors, which mine was for me, and so on. What came to mind for me was what happened from time to time when I was a child. 

Did you ever wander off in a store as a child? Did your parents panic when they didn't find you, or did you? I had a tendency to stop to look at something more closely, or to keep going when my parent(s) stopped. Eventually, I'd look up and not see my parents. A touch of panic would grab me right away. I'd look in the next couple of aisles and not see them, then the real panic would set in. I never called out, I never cried, I just felt dread and fear squeeze my insides as if wringing out a wet cloth. 

I always found them. They would be looking at something and had no idea that I'd gone "missing." They'd even tease me about worrying. "We're here," they'd say. "We wouldn't leave without you." But I'd always end up doing and feeling the same thing.

This panic went deep. Even within the past few years, if I lost track of my friends in a store, I'd feel the panic and look for them. This sense of being lost and alone generally led me to stay close to them, whether what they were looking at interested me or not. In fact, that behavior has become routine for me. If I am in a crowded situation with someone, I will hold onto a piece of their clothing, if I cannot hold their hand, so I don't get lost.

"So how do you feel now," asked Karen. "Now that your family is all gone?" All the fear and the sense of isolation and panic and the knowledge that my fear I would end up alone has been completely validated surged up and out of me, first in words then in tears and finally in sobs that shook me so I could barely breathe — I don't know how long that lasted. I do know I went through two more tissues.

I knew this work was going to be difficult, and I knew I would cry. I did not know that I would actually sob my heart out in this woman's office; I have only done that in front of one person ever in my life (at least in my memory). I hate feeling this much pain, I hate crying, and I particularly hate sobbing where my body shakes and I can't keep noise from coming out of my mouth — the part of me that stands aside and observes always comments on how stupid those noises sound. I hate them. Doing this in front of another person simply added to the intensity and distress.

We talked me down and I was calm and tear-free when I left. I even took a walk at the park. But I'm going to have to figure out a different strategy: I also went to the grocery store because I needed a few things. Unfortunately, not only do I not manage lunch before my appointment, I also feel a sense of need for comfort after pouring out my tears. I bought goodies. And ate them all. Even if I'm burning off calories by crying and by walking, they aren't enough to balance out the comfort foods.

After an intensely emotional event, I generally move to a phase of "reduced affect" where I feel and display very little emotion. I have a polite and civilized aspect, I think. Given enough of these events over time to think about them, I've concluded that the follow-up phase functions both as a self-protective mechanism and a control mechanism. When I experience such intense emotions, I fear that I will lose control completely, and then what?  Therefore, after such events, my mind and body shut down to limit me and protect me from that intensity for a little while so I can recover. After today, I wouldn't be surprised if I shut down for the next week.

Cognitive therapy has nothing on trauma therapy. Nothing.

Big love, bright life

Today I was drenched in prayers and good wishes from many friends in my extended community and now I feel light and shiny. 

How different from just a day or two ago!

I still have my depression and anxiety, but today I am feeling noticeably lifted above them. It feels good. Between good therapy and an amazing response from these friends, yes, it's a good day. This good day feeling directly recalls yesterday's post about the feel-good brain chemicals produced in women's conversations.

Along with the light and shiny feelings comes exhaustion. I conjecture this exhaustion comes from the emotional outpouring I made, and the emotional inpouring I received. How amazing the power that can be transmitted via email and cell phone!

One message that friends told me and told me was that Depression Lies.This message aligns with what Karen and I discussed in our session today. She said that whether or not I have some social developmental problem doesn't matter. The fact that I believe I do makes me act as if I do: I feel awkward in social situations, I don't know how to make small talk, I feel clueless and am tense, sure that I'll say or do something foolish or stupid (and in the past, I often have). Belief can create reality. (Julie, no crowing!)

Thus, I have another task, trying to change my belief and hoping it changes my behavior and thinking. I'll put it on the list.

I'll leave off some of the other things we talked about in today's session, because I don't want to bring down the tone of this post. 

I feel good. I feel a remembrance of when I was an optimist and rather bouncy. I can't wait until I get my new med — it may take me back to that place where I feel confident and calm. I'll hold onto today's light and shiny feeling for as long as I can, and I'll come back to this post to remind myself, when the dark days come, as they will do as I continue my therapeutic journey.

Thank you, my friends, for everything.

Signed,

Tinkerbell

Faith?

I'm not very good at faith. I have a scientific mind. However, I used to be a "true believer" type: faeries, Santa, good government, UFOs, true love, and unicorns. These two aspects do create a bit of cognitive dissonance.

Life has rather kicked the faith right out of me. When I encounter others who believe in things, whether it's a deity or true love, part of me is sure that person is deluded. The other part of me is envious. I guess that makes me Fox Mulder: I want to believe. Blind faith, however, has never suited me.

Given that information, you may be surprised to hear that I think I am feeling better. I have very limited, subjective evidence, and many adjectives: kind of, maybe, a little bit, perhaps. But I felt good after therapy the other day; I felt like myself. Actually, it was a little weird. I walked like I used to walk, long swinging steps, head held high. I felt light. There was something different physically. (It didn't last long, but that's a different story.)

Add to that anecdotal evidence is that fact that I seem to be less depressed. I think I've gotten off the couch more today. When off the couch, I made movements that one might interpret as dancing. Just a little. Maybe. Kind of.

It's possible that I'm turning the corner, with my new therapy and my higher dosages of medication. But I have no actual proof, yet. Maybe if I believe, perhaps, I'll get better because I believe.

That would be really great because then I could stop taking the medications, right?

Trauma Work - Week 1

Warning: this is an extraordinarily long post. And it's kind of tedious.

I've been promising to tell you about my therapy. Today we began the trauma work, and it was every bit as painful and difficult as you might imagine. And yet, my therapist contrarily makes it easier to go through the trauma. 

I cried today, a lot. I normally do not cry in front of people, including myself. I hate to cry. Not just a little hate. Hate with a fervor reserved for rival drug lords. However, I felt comfortable crying in front of Karen. My stomach didn't clench. My shoulders didn't tighten.

By now you are asking yourself, "Sure, sure, but what the hell is 'trauma therapy'?"

I believe that now I begin the end of my anonymity among those who know me IRL.  As long as employers and clients do not find me --- and I'm not sure how they could --- that is fine with me.

By mutual decision, Karen and I decided to start with my latest and most debilitating trauma: the death of my mother. Her death resonates with earlier deaths, but I believe I need to deal with Mom's death first.

I began with the beginning, because I am OCD enough to like to do things sequentially. Beginning with when I first found out she had cancer, I listed what I consider the major points from beginning through her death. Then I wrote the facts for each point, including my own feelings and the dates of those facts where I have them.

Today we began the next step: I read the points for one portion of the story. And as I read, my emotions came flowing up, along with tears. Karen interrupted here and there to question feelings and to tell me how she felt and to mirror my feelings back to me. After I finished reading, we continued talking about that portion of the story and my emotions. She continued to mirror back and to question for further depth my emotions, and to tell me what she felt and thought as I read. I told her feelings I haven't told anyone. We talked about the multiple layers of how I felt. And I continued to cry. I even hit the point of gasping. Thankfully, I avoided sobbing, but I can see the potential for this. That will suck big time.

We switched to a more intellectual perspective that allowed me to calm down before I left her room. I may have had red eyes, but there were no tears pouring down my face.

As I drove away, I found that I felt odd. It seemed that I felt lighter and calmer, but I questioned those feelings. Still, that was how I felt. As I walked from my car toward the grocery store, I found myself walking differently, looser, and feeling a bit like my old self. Could just one little bit of this therapy truly have that much of an effect on me? Not sure.

Perhaps I'd still be feeling and wondering, if it weren't for the buzz kill. When I got was in the store, I received a call from my apartment complex office. Checks had been stolen from their drop box, and the boxes of the nearby complexes. And my check was among them.

I feel angry. It's as if the universe is keeping a very close count of my happys and sads and making my life balance on a very tight schedule. This happened after I jumped off a bridge and felt strong and confident --- five days later my car slid on the ice and ended up half in a ditched, totaled, and that event stole those feelings from me, leaving me feeling fearful and powerless. A year and a half ago, my mom was finally free to travel and do anything she wanted, mostly with me --- then she died of cancer.

Yes, I feel angry. And my world view that the universe has it in for me has not changed. Sorry, Julie. Maybe later.

Delayed actions

I sat in therapy and cried today. At the end of the session, I pointed out to my therapist that she was now in a very exclusive club. I have rarely gotten even teary in other therapy sessions and with other therapists. Today I was in tears for most of the session.

She suggested that I not worry about accomplishing anything right now. I am so depressed that I feel proud of myself when I take a shower and put on actual clothes.

I know that for people who have never experienced this kind of depression, it is very difficult to understand. I was trying to explain it to a friend today. He's one of those people who turn adversity into motivation. He wins. He succeeds. He is trying very hard to understand what I am going through.

The main thing that I can articulate is that my cognitive functions are almost completely cut off from everything else. I'll think "I could pick up a little around here" and ... nothing happens. I don't move. I simply move on. "I don't really need any more ice cream," I think to myself as I open the freezer, dish ice cream out, and sit down to eat.

So my therapist isn't expecting any homework from me right now. I'm really not capable. But I see my new psychiatrist tomorrow and both my therapist and I hope that she can help me get my brain chemicals squared away. Because I am not functioning.

Besides, my money isn't going to last that long.

Avoidance, Anger, & Angst

My mind has been in avoidance mode for many months now. Actually for a couple of years. When I find living to be overwhelming, I do something that keeps my mind distracted. I know this is not the most effective strategy for dealing with difficulty, but it's the strategy that I've used unconsciously for some time now.

It used to be that I read voraciously to distract myself. When I feel like it, I can read at least one and possibly two novels in an evening. Yes, I'm that fast. But for some reason, I haven't been as much of a reader for almost four years, except for about six months in a row in early 2008. The rest of this time I distracted myself with either highly detailed fantasy lives or the internet. And now, all I do is the internet. And sometimes the TV. I don't even go looking for new things on the internet anymore. I don't spend time looking at comics and LOLcats and YouTube videos. It's as if my mind has become the Sahara, almost totally devoid of life.

Currently, I'm avoiding everything. I'm avoiding the pain and grief of loss. I'm avoiding an ungodly amount of anger. And I'm avoiding a paralyzing amount of anxiety. Overwhelmed? Understatement.

I haven't done my therapy homework this week and tomorrow is therapy. And I'm not going to do it at this point. I was going to skip or phone in a post again, but I decided to at least put some effort in here.

I have a good friend whom I talk with, and lately we've discussed how I'm feeling, what I'm doing (or not doing). He is a fixer and always has many suggestions for what I should or could do. Given that he is a successful entrepreneur, a former jock, and a complete go-getter, what he says makes sense to him. He has seen the success of what he is suggesting.

I'm none of those things, and my track record leaves me with a feeling of impotence. For so many of the important things in life, I have a great deal of evidence that my own actions have little or no effect. I might as well flip a coin. Feeling helpless makes me anxious.

You know I'm trying to make this an anonymous blog. I don't want this traceable to my self because I don't want to deal with professional repercussions, or even some personal ones. I'd rather not have to worry about being judged by what I might say here.

Given than, I find that trying to be less detectable is making me less detailed. So, I'm going to at least be real. If not named. As if those who I know don't already know this is me.

Crap, my writing is getting a bit unclear. So, I'll end now and continue with Anger tomorrow.

Thanks for listening.

Hypothetically Positive

One of my past therapists suggested a behavioral way to affect my mood when I am depressed. There is a corresponding cognitive aspect, as well.

When I was feeling down (and at the time, it was always), I was to smile, to make sure my posture was good --- shoulders back, head up --- and pick up my feet when I walked, rather than letting them kind of shuffle. These are behaviors most of us have when we feel positive and cheerful. (And I do find that when I am feeling most depressed or anxious, my head is bent way down, I look at the ground, and it requires much effort to not only bring my head up, but to keep it up.)

Cognitively, I was to consciously make positive statements to myself. If I found myself making a negative statement (I'm such a clutz!), I was to find a way to state it more positively (I may not be a ballet dancer, but I can get where I'm going!). These may not be the best examples, but I'm having difficulties making positive statements out of negatives right now, which is weird because I had a fairly good day. Except for eating all that chocolate. Why do I even buy it?

A friend of mine has been working on changing her mindset to a more positive one, and she says it seems to be working. I vaguely remember it working for me in the past. Therefore, I'm going to work on it. 

A sample of negatives I want to make more positive:

• I have no control over my eating and can't stop eating all the sweets in the house.
• I'm fat, and I'm stupid for not doing what I need to do to get healthier.
• I'll be alone and lonely forever.
• I'm lazy and I'll never find new work and I'll always be poor.
• I never pay my bills on time. I'll have bad credit and never be able to buy a house.

Now I'm just depressing myself. If this is what's going on inside my head (and there is more), then no wonder I'm a wreck. I need to spend some time thinking about how to reframe/reposition these statements. More fun for me.

I accomplished many things today: I ran errands; I bought some things I needed for the house and for personal needs; I bought an iced tea machine because I just don't make it myself --- this will be a lot easier; that damned candy, some of which is in the fridge, so I didn't eat it all; priced out things I'd like, such as curtain rods for the living room and bedroom and hand mixers; and I just shopped without buying. I saw pillows that would look great in my bedroom. I some perfect ones for the living room. But ... I'm not earning money, so it makes no sense to spend money on non-necessities (the iced tea machine is so a necessity; it's cheaper than buying pre-made tea or soda!). I've been thinking I should consider buying a simple sewing machine so I could make things for the apartment, instead of buying them. Right. Not like me to try to load myself down with too many things to do or think about.

So I will work on being more positive, and I still have my therapy homework to do. 

Is there something in your life that you could frame in a more positive way? Do you want to be more positive? What are your strategies?