Posts tagged ‘Pain’

July 9, 2011

One Year Ago

My dad and my brother, less than a month before my dad committed suicide.

July 7th was the one year anniversary of my father’s death.  My brother, sister, and I all met for dinner on Thursday.  We talked about that day:  how we felt, what we were doing when each of us received the news, and how we feel now.

Incredibly, I feel no sadness.  For me, my father is not really dead.  Since Elly made the memorial service about her and the fact that we were not allowed to see his body, my father’s death has never felt real.

In reality, it does not matter much to me whether he is alive or dead.  Oh it did for a little while, but today I feel neutral.

From 2008 until his death, I cared. I knew he would be dying sooner rather than later and I wanted to get to know my dad.  And the truth is, I kind of did.  But I was to afraid to ever ask him the questions I really wanted to know.

Being a victim of sexual abuse, I believe, makes you afraid to open up conversations with the abuser.  I was afraid to ask him why.  I was afraid to ask him anything about it.  I was afraid he would tell me it was all my fault!

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April 18, 2011

Bipolar disorder

Since the recent news about Catherine Zeta Jones I thought it was time for bipolar disorder.

According to http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov, people with bipolar disorder type II have never experienced full-fledged mania. Instead they experience periods of hypomania (elevated levels of energy and impulsiveness that are not as extreme as the symptoms of mania). These hypomanic periods alternate with episodes of depression.

That was one of my many diagnosis’s. What I find ironic is this describes many people I know. People are sometimes happy and sometimes sad. It is the extreme of the two that is cause for concern. However, I feel like this diagnoses could easily be abused.

I was prescribed a mood stabilizer, some worked… I became a zombie! Never really happy and never really ever sad.

I do realize I have a tendency toward true manic depression. But do I really need to be medicated?

What if I was taught life skills to handle stress? What if I was able to identify the clues of mania. And for that matter depression.

Learning to truly manage my life has been incredible. Knowing I always have a choice (ALWAYS) has been the most empowering, yet it was a devastating part of my recovery in the beginning.

Why devastating? Because it made me responsible for me. I can no longer blame those or the events around me for my misfortune because I have a choice, not only as to my actions but my reactions.

In my next post I will explain my bi-polar disorder and how I live (actually thrive) without medication!

Bi-polar disorder does not have to be a life long illness, just as depression does not have to be a life long illness.

April 3, 2011

Where next?

Healing toxic relationships are the most important part of my recovery. By acknowledging them and identifying why they are toxic I am able to keep balance in my life.

But healing toxic relationships are only a part of my journey to sanity and recovery. So I think I will attempt to dispel all of my diagnosis over the years.

First, I think it is important for my readers to understand that I do not deny there is depression, bi-polar disorder, personality disorders, etc. What I do want you to know, for my life anyway, is that medication does not heal any of these, nor is it something I will need forever.

A psychiatrist once told me, “You have an imbalance and in order to fix that imbalance you will need to take medication the rest of your life. Much like someone who is a diabetic.” That was a lie.

It is a lie I have heard many times!

March 5, 2011

No one should be so hurt

that they are broken.  But it happens.  People break other people.  People hurt other people.  Parents hurt their children.  Siblings hurt each other.  Friends hurt each other.  Strangers hurt each other.

Most say they want revenge or justice for the hurt they have suffered.  But I believe what people really want is to hear I am sorry, I love you and I hate that I hurt you!

So what can you do if that is just never going to happen?  You tell them.  You tell them, even if they are not there to hear you, you hurt me, I want you to love me and I want you to be sorry that you hurt me.

Then you say: even though you hurt me, even though I am broken now, I am stronger than you ever thought I could be, you will no longer keep my power, and despite you I am going to be OK.  Better than OK!

Then you work your ass off to do just that!

It is time to heal….

It is the end of 2003… and it is time to heal!  To be better than OK!  No more surviving, no more almost dying… it is time to live!

November 1, 2010

Broken

When Bobby and I separated, for some reason, I thought we would stay married.  What ever gave me that idea?  I loved him very much but we just could not live together.  We still saw each other often and got a long well.  But little did I know Bobby did not have the same idea.  Soon I discovered that Bobby had moved on.  And he soon moved in with Kelly, eventually becoming his second wife.

Broken!

How could I have predicted such an event?  I was shown, by my parents, that dysfunction was OK.  I truly believed (by the only example I had) that Bobby and I could live separate lives and still have a life together.

I realized this was not to be – I began to self destruct!

Not long after the self-destruction began, I was involved in a major use of force at work.  For those of you who never worked at TDC, that is when you are in an altercation with an inmate.  An inmate, in what we called super-seg, came after me.  He and I went to the floor.  He was handcuffed and had tried to kick me then tried to wrap the handcuffs around my neck.  It took 7 big men to pull me off of him.  I was holding on for dear life!

Broken!

I would love to give you details of all the events that took place next; however, I can not remember most of them.  My life became this weird sort of different realm.  Things were going on around me I could not comprehend.  I was doing things that seemed like it was another person.  I could see myself doing them but it did not feel like me.

Fortunately, I was actually afraid for my son to be with me so at some point I took him to my friend Tammy.  I have no memory of this but weeks later Tammy told me that I had brought him to her and left.

I was broken, I mean literally my mind broke into pieces.  All the years of abuse, a broken heart, the loss of my Mom, no family… everything seemed to be gone and I left too.  I checked out!  And attempted to do it permanently!

What I do remember….

I believe it was a Tuesday, the fall of 1992.  I left work and went home.  I got a call the next day from the woman who would babysit Jake.  I had never come to pick him up.  I was frantic!  I went and got him.  I remember us in the car.  Then I remember him not being in the car.  But somehow I knew he was safe.  I remember feeling a sense of relief that he was safe.  I remember buying razor blades.  I remember the pain.  The blood.  I remember how much it hurt and thinking about what a wimp I was and I just could not take the physical pain.  I must have passed out….

The next thing I remember I was in a hospital, where I had been for about a week (or at least that is what I was told).   I wanted to leave and go and find my son!  When I realized I could not leave I became frantic to find him.  A nurse took me to the phone and said for me to call a family member.  I tried to call Bobby over and over and over and over again!  Finally, I got a hold of Roy (Bobby’s Dad) and he said he would have Bobby call me.  Bobby came the next day with Jake.

I was hospitalized for about a month.

When the doctor finally said I could leave he would not let me leave unless I had someone I could stay with.  I called my Nanny and even my Dad.  Neither would take me and Jake.  My wonderful friend’s Tammy and James (yes, that is the same James) took me and Jake into their home.  No questions asked!  We lived there for about 6 months before I was able to get a place on my own and be released to go back to work.

This was the beginning of a very long journey!  Years of medications to just make it through the day.  I was not put back together again… I was still broken!  But the medicine acted like scotch tape and barely held me together.  Occasionally the tape would no longer hold so the doctors would find “better” or “different”or “more” tape to try and hold me together.   And it kind of did.  For awhile.

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