Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Examine the Past or Ignore the Pain?

There are days when I have to force myself to look at my past. I have to look at the memories, like picking up a very fragile item at a specialty store. Carefully turning it from side to side, trying to view it from all angles, and not drop it in the process. I can't let anything shatter. The pieces would be so sharp they would slice me into tiny bits that can't be put back together. As it is, in the tightly bound, fragile bundle the memories feel like they are in my head, they still hurt me. They hurt too much to examine too closely. I don't hold those moments close to the eyes for every intimate detail to be viewed. Instead, I look at it from all angles, holding it away from myself, as if fearful it will explode while in my hand, injuring me beyond repair.

I wonder which is less healthy, being so afraid of the past that you don't want to examine it too close, tamping those memories deep into the recesses of your mind so you never have to deal with the majority of the most painful ones, or not remembering at all? At least when I didn't remember some of this stuff, I didn't have to be afraid of where my mind chose to take me when I fall asleep without distraction. Now, all the things that I push into the darkest most cobwebey (take note, Webster. That's totally a word. Stop trying to correct my bad English) corner of my mind are pulled out when my subconscious takes over. Faces, mistakes, hurts, and.....just so much more take over my mind and hijack my dreams.

The biggest problem with remembering, and still refusing to "remember" is I have to achieve a numbness to function. That's one of those not good things. Sure, it serves a purpose. It keeps me going. I get up, shower, get dressed, drink coffee, go to work, sometimes remember that putting food in my mouth is a good thing and actually proceed to do so, sometimes react in the emotional manner that people expect from a "normal" person......like I said, I function. My lack of emotional response scares me as much as losing control of myself, like what happened last weekend. What if losing control means I hurt myself?

Since I don't have any answers to any of the questions in this blog, is this a completely useless thing to write? I'm obviously not actually dealing with any of these problems. I just continue to float from day to day, every once in a while I fall asleep and stay that way.  Every once in a while I manage to seem almost normal, even if the emotions aren't there. Sometimes my dog makes me giggle and actually mean it, because she's adorable and doesn't understand why mom is upset. Sometimes I take out one of those fragile, painful memories and look it over. I even let myself open a small crack in the dam (I have a name for it. I call it "control." It's my friend. Don't mock it, just roll with it. We all know I'm crazy anyway.) I'll cry a little, just enough to relieve a little of the stress on the storage room doors, close up the crack and move on.

One of these days, I won't be able to close up the crack. I'll drop the memory, it will shatter, and my world will fall apart. Until that day, here's hoping I can find someone to help me deal. Oh joy! I get to go to a P-sychiatrist!

Saturday, August 30, 2014

A Walk in the Rain

I went walking in the rain. It felt good to let it wash away the numbness and even a little bit of the pain that was hiding away underneath. The rain felt cold and clean. I just wanted it to make me feel new, but it didn't. No matter how much the rain washes over me and chases away the demons, there will be plenty more demons following behind to trample on any peace I may have managed to obtain.

I went walking in the rain in the cemetery. All I could think was "Lucky bastards". They don't care about their past any more, they don't have people worrying about their present, and their future is secure. At the same time I hurt to be alive, it helped to be somewhere quiet. Nobody to pretend that I'm normal for. No one to judge me when I don't react the way they want or expect. No questioning of how I really feel, how I really am. Just silent gravestones, standing vigil as I came back to myself again.

The walk cleared my head of the fog that gets me through my weeks at work. The fog that keeps me from breaking down and having to call in because I can't function. The fog that sometimes makes the laughter come out a bit loud and maniacal sounding because I misjudge what is acceptable and normal. The fog that makes me remember just a second too late to smile at cuteness and seem sad when a tragedy occurs, which causes the looks from strangers and friends alike. Looks of surprise then doubt that they saw what was actually lurking behind my eyes, they truth they saw for merely a moment. The fog that makes people believe that the truth is the lie and the lie, which is so much more commonly seen, is the truth.

The only way to function is to push the emotions so far away from me that I can barely feel the pressure of them in a box in the corner of my mind, but I'm so practiced at it that sometimes I do it without thinking. The numbness gets to me after a while. I desperately need an outlet, something to help me remember what feelings really are. Or maybe, what they would be if they were physically manifested. So, I clench my fist hard enough for my nails to draw blood, I press my leg hard enough against the corner of my desk to cause a bruise, I cut myself "while shaving" just deep enough for it to sting, etc., etc.

On the weekends I try sometimes to let my guard down. I try to just be me, instead of being normal. It hurts, though, to let go of the control, to feel all of that hurt I've suppressed all week. I can't do it much around other people, my mind won't let me, and if I'm not careful I let my guard down too much when I'm by myself. Once it's down, it takes time to build it back up again, because everything is too much for one person to contain or understand. . One person cannot hold that many emotions inside themselves. That's when I hurt myself for the other reason, to try to get it all out of my head. There's so much it buzzes in my brain and keeps me awake. When I DO manage to sleep, I sleep forever.....or at least it feels that way.

Music helps/hurts in so many ways. It helps me feel a little during the week, and it helps me express the feelings when I let myself go.  It hurts because sometimes it expresses it too well and I don't want to feel those things, I don't want to understand my thoughts, I don't want to go on with this, I don't want this to be normal for me. I don't want this any more at all.

Last weekend, my guard was brought down unexpectedly and violently, and I didn't think I would survive it. It wasn't a contemplation of suicide, just a realization that, even when I let myself feel, I don't ever let myself feel it all. Unless my control is taken away from me completely, I will forever continue to avoid a pain like that again. Except that, I can't actually avoid something that lives inside me. It's the serpent coiled up in the back of my mind, waiting to strike at every chance it gets, and although I stop it from poisoning me in one fell swoop, I can't help but to wonder if it's poison is killing me little by little in the doses I can't avoid.

So, maybe if it rains again later, I'll go for another walk in the rain in the cemetery. Maybe it will make me feel a little better for a little while. Or maybe I'm just crazy.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Things Once Stolen, Things I'm Taking Back

At age 8, someone stole my self-confidence. He stole my innocence and trust in others, but the worst thing he took was my faith in myself.

At age 18-27, someone stole my sense of self worth. Peeled back painfully layer by layer over the years until I felt like I had nothing left.

At age 32, amnesia took everything else away. My sense of self and what little confidence and self worth I had been able to build back up.

When I lost my memories, I thought things would never be the same. I heard stories about what was taken from me and how, but they weren't my reality anymore. However, the amnesia left me with a whole new set of doubts and worries to contend with. Plus, now I had to deal with all the people spreading lies about me, and how can I refute what I don't know. Now I had to deal with people saying I was only doing this for attention (that I knew was not true, but since refuting those claims only drew more attention, it left me in quite the catch-22.) Now I had to deal with people saying I left for this horrible reason or that horrible reason, again not something I can say is true or untrue as I just don't know.

Then my memories started coming back. Everything that had been taken from me over the years was taken from me again, only now it was reinforced by the cruel words of strangers and painful fears the fugue and amnesia had left me with. Everything I ever was that would have made me a better person, everything I ever had that would have made me strong, everything I ever could have needed to fight against the meanness of small minded people was stolen from me.

Now I'm taking it all back, literally one step at a time.

I am claiming myself for myself. I run not to run away from life, but to run towards a goal of becoming someone I was never allowed the opportunity to be.

I run for me, while I run for a cause, and I am a better person for it. Donate at the link below to help me follow my dream of running a half marathon and friend me on RunKeeper (link below that) to track my progress towards the 13 mile run. Give me a chance to be me again.



GROUP HUG!!!! Friends make everything better.

GROUP HUG!!!! Friends make everything better.