Monday, October 27, 2014


Okay, this is likely not going to make any sense to most people because sometimes the things that come out of my brain are nonsense to anyone but myself and a VERY select few people who get me, but here goes anyway.

I sometimes wonder if, in the face of adversity and diagnoses, medications and therapy, blogging about my life and living in it, I may be losing my me-ness.  Am I losing myself to everything that is happening to me and within me?

Even having put it here, I'm still not sure it makes sense to me. It's just that I feel like I'm dealing with a little more than I can handle, and, other than here, I'm not sure how to talk it out. It's so much harder to be honest to someone's face than it is on my wonderfully faceless blog. I know people who are close to me read it, but knowing that and seeing their expressions as they take in my craziness are two different things. One I can deal with, the other......well, not so much.

Back on topic, though. Y'see, I'm still dealing with my amnesia and all of the fallout from that, with an added twist. I still have gaps and gray areas, where I can see what happened in my life through almost a fog, most of it so out of focus I might as well not be seeing anything. However, now I am afraid of poking and prodding at those gaps and out of focus areas. I'm not sure I want to know. The last time I poked at my memory with a metaphorical stick, things turned out bad. Very, very bad, with me hurting myself in the worst way possible. Yes, that led to a diagnosis of something I was pretty sure I had, and a lot of revelations of what that means to my life, my universe, and my everything (42, people.) It also lead to revelations of bad things that had already happened to me, ways I'd been hurt and had caused hurt to others, people I know and don't know, that I'm having trouble forgiving myself for. The ripples in the pond that is my life from poking and prodding where I should have left well enough alone may never calm, especially if I keep it up. I don't like having amnesia and I'm not good at leaving well enough alone, but I don't like the intense pain associated with the truth that is my life.

Those ripples in the pond have lead to a new thing to deal with: a secondary persona. Whether she is always there, barely resting beneath the surface of me or was only a temporary/necessary thing I may never know. Once again, as with the fugue, I am faced with something huge in my life I may never know the answer for. I am less content to sit back and accept this than I was with the fugue because remembering a fugue is fairly unique (Possibly completely so. I know I've never heard of regaining ones memory of such a time before, but what do I know. I'm no P-sychiatrist (Hell-oooooooo, Nurse!) and can only go off the number of times I would never remember. Period.) I am less content simply because so many were wrong before, and my brain has this amazing ability to surprise me so very often. It's terrifying and mystifying and wondrous all at once that there is this new puzzle to solve.

Now I'm dealing with bipolar disorder. Sometimes I can joke and laugh at it. Sometimes I can revel in finally understanding why I am the way I am. Most of the time, though, I give in to the fear of the stigma of it, and worry that everything that could be taken as a symptom of it being worse than we first assumed actually is a confirmation of just that. I worry that my meds aren't strong enough, or are too strong. I worry that I'm not strong enough to overcome this. I worry that my relationships aren't strong enough to handle this, or if it gets worse that they will truly fall apart. I worry that I cling too much and simultaneously that I push people away too much. I have trouble with that little thing called a "middle ground" where things are good and balanced.

Just now I re-read what I'd written and now I worry that I worry too much. :-P  AARRRGGGGHHHHH!!

Sunday, October 26, 2014


I wish sometimes (like tonight) that someone had all the answers for all of me and just tell me what's what and why. I hate it when I don't make sense to myself like right now.  The things that happen to me because of my messed up brain are startling or horrible or slightly stupid or sometimes all of the above. I want to know why.

I want to know why sometimes funny is easy, and sometimes even just a smile is a struggle, let alone goofy silly (which is so much better than serious, it's shocking or maybe a bit alarming if you're in an especially serious mood.)

I want to know why I can't cry even when I desperately need to. People think tearing up is crying, but letting a tear fall seldom happens, and sometime I cry dry sobs and hurt my throat and make me want to scream to the world that something is wrong. Just because I can't get myself to cry so the world can see my red eyes and tear streaks doesn't mean I'm good.

I want to know why sometimes, when people really annoy me, I get unreasonably angry with them and yell, or unreasonably irritated and gripe about or snipe at them. It hurts people's feelings and I want to stop (wellllll......most of the time I want to stop. Some people live their lives to annoy others and I don't feel bad for the way I treat them in return. If you give me a reason to treat you with disrespect don't be a jerk when I do it. If you're a bully, don't try to turn it back on me and act like everything you do is my fault, and tell me to stop being so sensitive, because I will turn it all back on you and not in a nice way. KL, this is for you.)

I know, I know. "Because Bipolar" I said it myself previously, but why. What exactly happens in bipolar disorder that makes people act the way they do. My logical side is currently in overdrive and I'm dying to know AND understand all the stuff I already know. Plus, eventually I'm going to have to accept that I will likely never understand it all, since the way a person reacts to being bipolar is, from what I understand, highly affected by life experience and mine is unique to me, just like your's is unique to you.  We're all kinda stuck that way.

But, I still wanna know why. Why everything.....just EVERYTHING? (I don't say this sarcastically. I say this with a despair in me that causes me to pull my knees to my chest and rock back and forth. I'm a little antsy right now.)

Okay......maybe not EVERYTHING, but close enough. (Say that in my voice, but very whiny. I'll wait....................Theeeeere ya go!)

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Be Goofy, Because Serious is Not Good

So, yes I am trying to post more again. We all know how consistent I am with this, but I think the point is I am trying.

Today I've been looking at goofy images about bipolar disorder on the internet. If you know me, you know why. If you don't know me, you MAY be asking why (because you're nosy like that, I can tell.) Well, I'm gonna tell y'all anyway, so buckle in and deal, or shut your browser so you don't have to read my ramblings again. Either way, I'm good.

Just like with the amnesia, I needed to understand at first what it meant. That meant asking as many questions as my brain can come up with and research, research, research. That's the time for serious and angst and trying to wrap my head around something so big you can't really grasp it fully no matter how hard you try.

Now again, just like with the amnesia, I need to laugh and joke and find others with the same problems, but different because we are all human and like snowflakes, no two humans are exactly the same. The laughter is going well, and in the process the revelations keep coming. I'll look at a goofy picture and realize, "Oh my God!!! So I'm like that because Bipolar?"

Yup, it's become my new "because....." statement. When I'm talking 50 miles per hour and my brain is very distractible: because bipolar. When my mood is up for a day or two, then down in the major dumps (No, I'm not a rapid cycler, thank God!): because bipolar. When I'm screaming on the inside and "fine" on the outside: because bipolar. When I can't sleep because my brain won't shut up: because bipolar. When I see lights and movement out of the corner of my eye, but nothing is there (I didn't realize until recently that hallucinations that small and harmless were just as much bipolar as the big grandiose ones): because bipolar. When I impulse spend, big or small: because bipolar. When I'm super creative, writing like a genius (I wish), and can't stop moving/wiggling/wriggling: because bipolar.

Anyone else see how much it explains about me. It also, in a way, explains my fugue. People with a mental illness like bipolar disorder are more prone to episodes like that. It doesn't "explain" the amnesia, but it makes it easier to accept as just another part of my "crazy."

Just so y'all know, the amnesia will never not be a thing. I will always be an amnesiac because I will never know that I "remember it all." I will always wonder what I'm still missing. I wake up with that question every day and go to bed with that question every morning (night owl, work late shift, deal with it) and I'm just learning to live with the fact that the question will never go away. I still get the occassional surprise when someone says "Do you remember...." and I don't. It's a slight shock to the system, and not at all pleasant. I have to learn to deal with it.

Just like every other issue I've had, I also don't want to be ashamed. There's so much stupid stigma attached to bipolar. People think bipolar is all bipolar I, but we aren't all full of grandiose ideas and super manic episodes. Some of us are a little more mellow than that. It's called bipolar II. Look it up, people. Google is my friend, it can be yours too. I promise it won't bite.

And now, a gift for all of you:

Wednesday, October 22, 2014



I get it.

Crisis averted.

Because really, I've heard enough horror stories about people with Bipolar Disorder not taking their meds to last me a lifetime. No, two lifetimes. At least.

I will not stop taking my meds.

I don't think the point was ever that I would stop taking my meds, the point was the worry that the temptation was even there in the first place, and that bothered me big time.

Really the kicker for me was my therapist pointing out that it's all about trust. Do I trust myself? Ummmmm.......for those that can't read obvious-ese, the answer is a big resounding "NO."

I have major trust issues. If you know me, this is not a shocking thing. If you don't know me, well I don't trust people I don't know, and if you met me you'd figure it out eventually. Sure, I sound like I love people in general. I share just enough to make people THINK I trust them and will give them all honest information about myself if they want, but that's the people pleaser side to my personality. I do try to keep everyone happy all the time (you can just imagine how well that works, and how much damage it can do to my ego when IT FREAKIN' NEVER WORKS!!)

Ahem.....back to the topic at hand - Trust. Yes, capitalized in bold italicized letters. It's a big deal. Why, you may ask (if you're into talking to your computer screen and asking questions to a person who's not there. To each their own, my friend,) do I write a blog and share so much of myself in it. My answer is (because I assume anyone reading this must be a crazy as myself,) because here I am rather anonymous. Sure my friends know who I am, but we don't really discuss what I write here. I get comments and likes on Facebook, and shares on Twitter, but that still leaves me faceless to the masses.

Basically, for those that can't read Amber-ese (it's a hard language to learn, don't give up.) I have a false sense of "safe" writing things out to people I don't really know and, even knowing it's false, I'm good with that.

My trust issues started when I was young. It's one of those memories I wish I'd never gotten back. It may have a very empowering ending, but the beginning makes me cry. I hate crying. I don't even cry when I'm alone, unless the situation is really bad.  I completely refuse to actually cry in front of other people. It's embarrassing. Your nose gets all snotty and your eyes get all red and your face gets all blotchy.

Oh yeah, I'm talking about trust here, not crying. I forgot to take one of my pills this morning and my distractability is showing big time. It's the pill that slows down my 500 mph brain to a steady 75 mph. Without it, I'm basically ADD. Work is gonna suck tonight.

Geesh, back to trust. So when you're 8 and your best friend/cousin breaks your trust in the worst way someone could and the big people in your lives don't miraculously know what is going on and stop it and you are told no one will believe you by this person who broke your trust who is older and (obviously) would know because older = wiser, it's hard not to start the long spiral into a mistrusting soul. When the hurt goes on for years and years, and you scream as loud as you can on the inside, (but only on the inside because when you are still told every time you get hurt that no one will believe you or he will hurt you or he will hurt people you love even though they aren't protecting you from the big bad, out loud just doesn't happen) but no one hears your silent pleas for help, the little bit of trust you have left disappears a little at each family get together, each just because gathering. You also, through all of this, learn that crying is a bad idea, because crying leads to harsh pinches and painful hair pulling that makes you cry even harder than before when someone brushes your hair because you're afraid of the pain. Yeah, this whole period in my life pretty well screwed me up.

But, then 15 came. Then The Slap happened. (Bold and underlined because this is the empowering part.) Then you realize that the person hurting you is a coward, and once you confront them they will forever leave you alone. Bullies are like that. They will only bully someone they can keep weak, and, rather suddenly, you are no longer weak. You realize this, and you feel powerful, but unfortunately nothing can seem to break the old habits, and no one can really rebuild trust that broken.

Not stopping it for years, when it turns out it was that easy, made trust in self pretty much non existent. My own judgement is always in question. My ability to make the right decision (especially when I've managed to make so many wrong ones in my adult life) is constantly doubted. And so I worry.

Welcome to my crazy.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Fake Control and Contradictions

I'm afraid of myself.

When I say that, I'm pretty sure most people think that means because I tried to kill myself, or because I became someone else for all intents and purposes for 3 weeks several years ago. The thing is, not so much. Those are big things, but big things are easier to control and categorize in my head. What I'm afraid of is so much more, so much deeper, than those things. What I'm afraid of is truly me.

I'm a bag of contradiction. I'm afraid of my feelings and thankful for medication that helps me to control them, but I'm afraid of the fact that they are still there. They sit beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to emerge when my medication is weakest in my system or I'm just not trying as hard as I should. Then they rear up like a monster in a creature feature, taking over the silver screen that is my head, and I have no control.

It's then I remember how hard I had to work to keep those emotions in check. Keep them hidden inside where people didn't see them. I was screaming so loud in my head begging people to see the truth, but still afraid of what they would then think of me, how weak I am, how unable to just be human.

Then I realize that I'm losing that control, and I'm afraid of not taking my meds. I'm afraid of the me that is lurking beneath the surface of calm that is medically induced, because the exterior calm, the facade of control is slipping from my grasp, my actual control. If I don't take them I will lose the respect of those around me, because everyone who was surprised by my recent diagnosis of bipolar just never saw the me beneath the smile, and I'm not sure I will ever be that person again.

That's when I realize I'm afraid of continuing to take my meds. Two reasons for this. One is....because I am losing my control and meds should be a stopgap, not an end all be all to the issues I have in my head. Two is because, sometimes it physically hurts to have the feelings echoing beneath the surface and not feel them. I miss the highs. I miss the feeling of the smiles being real because they came from that place deep in my soul that knew I was invincible and nothing could really hurt me. I even miss the lows that were so all consuming that everything was dark around me. There was no hope and the smiles had to come from an even deeper place because they had to be physically pulled out for the sake of the world around me. I just don't feel things that way on my medication. Just the echo of what was.

So, I don't want to feel, but I do want to feel.

I don't want to lose control, but I do want to lose control.

I don't want to lose MY control, but I'm glad to have something that makes it okay to lose.

My logical side and my emotional side are having a daily argument, and I'm still waiting to see who will win out. Of course, since they are both full of contradictory arguments themselves, I don't really know what one winning over the other will mean.

Meds Are Hard

Have you ever worn headphones just for the sake of wearing headphones? No music. No sound ringing through them into your head. Just to muffle the world. Make it seem far away, less real, less overwhelming. I have.

Have you ever put on a blindfold to block out the light? Not because your trying to sleep or have a headache, but just because the world is too much to see.  Too much to take in a process. Too stimulating to feel okay. I have.

Have you ever taken a hot bath for the purpose of shutting off the stimuli of the air around you? Just to envelope your body in warm nothingness and stop thinking. Using it not as a chance to breath and relax, but as a chance to slough off the sensation of feeling everything just that too much. I have.

Sometimes, the world is overwhelming. I remember everything just a little too brightly. I remember taste, touch, sight, scent, and sound to the point where I want to scream and laugh and cry, but my wonderful mood stabilizers won't let me do that any more. Not that I did it before, but at least I did it on the inside. Now the feeling is there, but buried so deep in my soul that I get only the echo. That echo is more overwhelming than the feelings ever were. So I have to shut it all out. I can't make my memories go away, but they are far less overwhelming when I don't have brand new outside stimuli breaking me into a million more pieces than the past.

Sometimes it's harder to take the meds and be normal, than to leave off them and feel again. Be normal for me rather than normal for the world.

I will do the right thing, rather than the "right thing for me", but urgle gurgle is it a hard decision to make when it's time to take my medicine and I know I can make me feel like "me" again.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

To Honesty

On my drive home last night, I was considering honesty. Recently I was lied to about something that majorly influences my job and, consequently, my life. This really upset me, and I ended up in a royal snit the last couple of nights. Sometimes life just affects people that way, I suppose. Especially if you let other people's honesty be that important to you.

Then I started thinking about all the times I lied. Lies of omission, lies of "kindness", lies of the most malicious and purposeful intent, unintentional lies, broken promises......the list goes on and on.

I find myself now wondering, when is it necessary to lie and how much honesty is too much honesty. Do I over share here on my blog, where it is easiest for me to be honest, and I hope it will help others? Do I not share enough to really make a difference or allow people a peek into my crazy mind? I know there are a lot of things I have yet to share, if I ever choose to. I assume you are all aware of that also. Does this bother those that follow me and read my blog? How much or little of myself do I need to provide to others for it to be enough, or too much?

Do I really care?

A large part of me writes this blog for me. I don't like talking about my feelings and deep thoughts, but they are there and this gives me a way to share. Whether or not anyone ever reads this again, it's a public journal of sorts. It makes me feel better that I put things I keep mostly bottled up out in the open where someone could stumble across it, and maybe understand a piece of me just a little bit.

But, am I putting too much out there? Am I opening myself up to being hurt beyond what I can handle, or can I truly not care, keep sharing, and assume the help outweighs the hurt?

I suppose I won't get any answers. All I can do is try to keep sharing bits of me with the knowledge that consequences of being honest will be forthcoming, because we live in a world where lies are acceptable and truth is punishable by hateful words, hurtful actions, ridicule and scorn.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Nothing to Fear

As we all know, the saying goes "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." However, I am living with a fear that is no less real because one US president decided that fear was harder to live with than the thing that we are afraid of. I actually agree with Sir Francis Bacon when he said "Nothing is terrible except fear itself."

So, what does a person do when what he/she fears is him/herself? How do you live with something like that? How do you function on a day to day basis? I am a ridiculously logical person 90% of the time. I need my logic to create a smooth outer finish for everyone to see, I need it to chase the chaos away, and I need it to keep the fear at bay. Now, I don't have anything to keep it at bay because logic is part of the fear.

Recently, I discovered that logic is not always a safe haven. Instead of logic saving me, logic nearly killed me. It didn't persuade me that hurting myself would hurt others. Instead, all it gave me was reasons why everyone would be okay without me. So, now I fear emotions and logic. What does that leave me? I have nowhere to turn to make sense of my life, except to others around me, and I have forgotten how to do that.

This is leading to some uncomfortable realizations about myself:
  1. I can't really handle emotions. I never learned how to as a child, and it's really hard to learn as an adult when you're in the habit of running from emotions or pushing them away from you. My therapist thinks we can work on my gut reactions to things, maybe we can work on this too.
  2. I have spent the last decade of my life pushing people away. I thought this was because I had to be strong and take care of myself. The truth of the matter is that I needed everyone to stay away because people generated real emotions, rather than the easily controlled fake emotions I conjured up to avoid curious looks from strangers, all pleasant of course. People want(ed) me to talk about myself, and that's horrifying to me. Unfortunately, now that I need people to replace my cold logic that was occasionally overcome with overwhelming emotions, this is definitely a problem. I feel so uncomfortable talking about myself that when I go to see a friend for that specific purpose I shy away and ask him to talk about himself. I'm so NOT OKAY with my own emotions that I feel freaked out after talking about myself to someone I PAY TO LISTEN TO LISTEN TO ME TALK ABOUT MYSELF.
  3. Due to pushing people away, I feel even more uncomfortable asking for help on something as intimate as sharing parts of myself I chose to pretend barely existed until 2 weeks ago. How dare I ask for help when I haven't been there for anyone for nearly 2 decades (I've only been pushing people away for the last half of that. You can deduce on your own what happened the previous half.) 
  4. No one in my life really needs me. They love me, yes. They want me around and to be able to call me up any time the desire arises, absolutely. They don't want me dead, HECK YEAH! But they don't really need me. I have not wanted anyone to need me, and effectively prevented that from becoming a thing with my friends and family, even my own children. I felt safer that way, right up until I wasn't safer, I was devastated. That's the reason it was so easy to believe it didn't matter if I lived or died. I wasn't NEEDED.
  5. I talk to no one. I feel just downright weird talking to people as much as I have the last couple of weeks. People want me to express how I am, but I don't know how to say anything other than my standard of "I'm fine." and really struggle with expressing things that I just recently let myself admit existed. If you are one of those asking, please be patient with me. Writing is easy, person to person interaction is just plain impossible most days. At least I'm trying now. You may think I sound easy going and fine, but trust me I'm usually not and I have to really work on that honesty thing. 
  6. It's probably better for me if I try for the sake of those that love me right now. I know you all think that's backwards, that I should want to do this for me, but it's so much easier to believe the bad stuff I've heard my whole life that I really don't like myself. So, trying for my own sake makes me feel hopeless and full of bad urges. When I think about the fact that others love me and I have a mission to be needed again, that is easIER. It's never easy. Even my good days are bad days.
  7. It is going to take me years to get through all the memories of my life. I feel like I've relived my entire life in the last 3 1/2 years and don't know how to file most of it away in my brain, so it's all scattered about on the floor and crammed into closets. Everything is clutter. The worst of it is the memories of the fugue. They fill my mind with so many confusing and terrifying images, I mostly really can't cope. I hope my therapist is prepared for a long haul with me.
  8. I am very, VERY afraid of myself. Mostly because, I heard all the others in the hospital say over and over "I will never do that again. I was so miserable after hurting myself I have no desire to even try again." But, I know I still could and frankly still would if I let myself spiral to where I was before. I have to tread lightly and stay open to everyone.
So you see, I don't have nothing to fear but the fear I live with, because I can't get away from what I fear the most. I live with it, breath in and out with it, I keep it in motion and it never shuts off. I am afraid of my own mind and how easily it will betray the vessel that it lives in because it's overwhelmed and doesn't want to try to live. I am afraid of myself, and I can't be ashamed any more about that. I just need to keep trying. For you!

Don't Pick

Written 8/24/14, the day I started to feel myself spiraling out of control, the day my world really felt like it was falling apart around me and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I'm going through my unpublished posts backwards and choosing a few to let you all know where I really was/am rather than lying about what is/was happening to me. I say I don't want to hide or lie, but that's exactly what I've been doing.

You'd think I'd have learned a long time ago not to pick at my wounds. They will heal naturally. In the meantime, leaves the scabs alone. God will move things along in His time.

Well, if this is His timing, I have news for Him. I can't deal with this.

So, am I okay? No. I honestly may never be okay again.

Why? Mostly, because I remember. I remember it all. And I want it to go away again. Now that I know why it was gone, I don't know how to do this.

For the first time in my life, I have run up against a wall. This is something I just can't get through. I'm not saying I can't get through this without help. I honestly don't see how to get through this AT ALL.

I remember what happened that started this. At the time, that would have destroyed me. Now, though, what is destroying me is her. The switch was flipped and she came out. All she cared about was survival. My survival. Nothing else mattered. She's the part of me that always seemed to be missing. The part of me that should naturally want to protect myself. She was stuffed into a box, collecting dust, becoming stronger and stronger until she had no choice but to take over. However, the things she did in the name of keeping me alive, the things she justified to herself, the excuses she made for not just going to my parents/sister/brother/aunt/anyone who cared.....none of it is okay. The things she did are what are destroying me.....and trying to wrap my head around the fact that she is me, but not me.

I would never do what she did. I would never allow myself to become that. She is cynical, suspicious, terrified and mistrusting of all people, and so very angry. Then I realized that all the parts of me that are so strong lately, but I don't really recognize from before, those are parts of her. She left them behind on purpose. Not to hurt, to protect, but it hurts anyway.

There's a line in a song that really speaks to me about this situation, Breathe No More by Evanescence. It says "I know the difference between myself and my reflection" but now I wonder if there is a difference. Are we one and the same. Is she a reflection of who I could be? Is she even a reflection, or is she just me.

I remember that night. He was at the gas station, I dropped my receipt and he stopped me by grabbing my shoulder with his hand. Then he followed me, but I didn't know that at the time. I stopped in the parking lot at Meijer by the bank to figure out my balance and decide if I could withdraw anything. He knocked on my window, I recognized him, rolled it down a bit to ask if there was anything else I'd forgotten, but then he opened the door, you can fill in the blanks from there, I'm sure. Except, something clicked in my brain. It's a light switch was flipped and suddenly I was watching as a silent observer and she was punching him in the nose. Hopped back in the car, locked the door, he ran off, she got cash, and just kept saying "Mom and Dad. Have to get to Mom and Dad." She know they would make me feel safe. It changed after a bit, though. They were never there when I was young and it was someone else hurting me, only she was. Keeping me alive, not letting me cut too deep, she was always whispering to be careful when I cut, don't take those pills, don't jump, she was the one that kept me alive and that's what she was going to do this time too.

And, that's what she did at all costs. Got people to trust her with the pretty young thing routine then dumped them when they were no longer useful, she (I?) willing to do whatever they wanted to do in order to get what she, a roof over her head, food, anything.

It all came crashing down in Joliet, though. The money ran out, no more people to trick into trusting her and the one that brought her there unreachable all of the sudden. Time to flip the switch, but just right so I don't remember what happened. Keeping me alive because that's her only job in life. The only problem was, I lost everything. But, I was still alive. Now I wish I wasn't, but I recognize that she's there, still whispering, still telling me that if I cut, don't cut too deep. If I take pills, only take enough to make the pain better, not die. If I drink, don't drink stupid. Who cares about the pain, as long as that pain tells her I'm alive that's fine with her. Alive is all that matters. Sane, well that would be a nice bonus, but apparently not necessary!!

Now to just figure out, are we a we, or is it just me?

The Reflection

Written on 9/1/14, it has taken me this long to share, but I think now is as good a time as any. I feel there are some things going on with me that I need to not be ashamed to share and this was early in a not as long as it felt process of a horrid spiral that I almost didn't survive. I want to not be ashamed of my mental illness(es?) because I want others not to be ashamed. We need to be okay with who we are in order to get the help we need.

Most people who've been through traumatic experiences talk of being afraid of the dark. They are afraid of the images their minds will conjure up when their eyes can't fill their minds with the reality of the here and now. I, on the other hand, and terrified by the light. I want to just lay in the dark and avoid looking in the mirror ever again.

Who do I see when I look there? Do I see me? Do I see her? Are we one and the same, or are we truly separate people? Maybe all I'm seeing is a reflection of a side of me I hate to admit even exists. The person inside of me that feels everything deeply. A person of no in between. A person that feels extremely sad OR angry OR happy OR frustrated. Even worse, it's like there is another person that feels everything all at once. Worst of all, there is no one who is normal, feeling only to capacity. Not so overflowing with emotion(s) that she can't function, or so lacking in emotion she is completely numb and terrifies herself.

I'm also not afraid of sleep. I want to just sleep and sleep forever and do nothing else. When I fall asleep with music blaring to drown out the noise that creeps into my mind in my dreams, or fall asleep to a show that makes me feel I could be protected, I'm at peace. But, sleep is harder than you would imagine. I lay in my bed wide awake for days. Then a day comes when I can't stay awake any longer. Those are the good days. I sleep for 12+ hours and wake up feeling nothing new, and am able to function a little better. Then the cycle starts all over again. 

Sometimes, when I've been awake for days, I feel like my control is slipping. I feel emotions. I'm her. The one who feels one thing at a time with her whole being. I get angry, and am just ANGRY. I feel sad, and am just SAD. Happiness doesn't seem to be common with her. Not that it never happens, but it's not good happiness. It's joy over someone else's pain. Another reason to not believe she is me. I don't think that way. I am not a perfect person, but I don't live for the pain of others. I don't want to make the people around me miserable to make myself feel better. 

Again, I sit here wondering how to survive this. Not knowing was better. I can't live with the knowing. I can't live with the pain of the lifetime of emotions bubbling below the surface, harder every day to hide. It is impossible to get through a day without losing my control just a little bit. The cutting is more frequent and the cuts are deeper. More and more they are because of lack of numbness rather than the other way around. 

I can't deal with this much longer.

GROUP HUG!!!! Friends make everything better.

GROUP HUG!!!! Friends make everything better.