The Bomb Shell – Part Deux

So I went back to work yesterday and all that stress I’d been *missing* came flooding back. I feel like a ticking time bomb. I had another windscreen washer moment today when one of my bosses had a crack at me for not going to a meeting that had been rescheduled to today, when I had another commitment. I lost it. The proverbial dam burst and there were tears everywhere (damn! – pun intended). Ugh. Part of me wants to take more time off, and part of me just feels like a failure.

Is this something I’ll miss if my mother lives with me? Possibly. I mean, I’ll miss the freedom I feel to just burst into tears at any old time in any old place. Reality is I need my space. I decided last week that if I knew my mother wouldn’t live for very long then I wouldn’t hesitate to live with her – for all her faults, I love her – but if we’re talking 10, 15 or 20 years, then, umm, we kinda need to have a different conversation. So I speak to my GP, who I have a really good relationship with, and I speak to her oncologist.

The long of the short of it or the short of the long of it is that it seems she really doesn’t have that long. May be two years at most. At most. Ugh. Even though the primary cancer has been removed, she has a couple of mets to deal with, meaning one, more likely two, more rounds of surgery and another six months of chemo, but apparently she’s discussed not having more treatment with her oncologist, which means she has up to two years. Up to. At most. Absolute maximum.

To say I was shocked at this news is an understatement. Shocked because every discussion I’ve been involved in has involved treatment and cure, not no treatment and no cure. Also shocked that I may only have her for such a short time – and yet there’s all these things she needs to teach me, like how to cook pancakes, how to sew a button on, and how to remove stains from things!

And so I don’t exactly say yes to the living arrangements, but I don’t exactly say no, either. How can I say no? Like many of you, the WT says I can but I “won’t” or “don’t want to”. Yep, I guess she’s right. I don’t want to say no to a dying woman, even if I don’t quite want to live with her, either, although part of me does so I can spend time with her and take care of her.

And now to top it all off there are two new lumps in her armpit. They could be anything, I realise that, but of course, given the circumstances, well… you know what I’m thinking.

So now I’m exploring the possibility of renovating my place so there’s more room – at least two “living” areas where we can do our own thing. I’m not sure it will work, but it’s worth looking at, and for me is a better option than moving. Certainly cheaper, and this way I get to keep (may be even improve) my lovely little house.

I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right, but it is what it is. If she decides to have the treatment then she’ll probably stay with me for six months or more anyway (her treatment being in the city and her home being in the country)… may be this is a better way to do the six months? I don’t know. It’s all messy and swirly in my head. If she’s moving in, I want to make it comfortable (for me) sooner rather than later; and if she’s not, well… I’m not sure how to deal with the temporariness of the current arrangement anyway. It feels like a no win situation. Sigh.

Come back!

I don’t know what’s going on with me this week. Somewhere along the path to sanity there was one too many straws on this camel’s back and I lost it. I’ve been (metaphorically) kicking and screaming like a bratty little kid again.

Actually, there are some reasons – at least these are the straws that proved too much. One – the doctor’s office *lost* my allergy shots and now, after six months of anti-cat shots, and nearly $1000 in doctor’s fees, I have to start all over again. Sigh. Second – I’m still sick from when I got sick on my trip. It’s driving me insane. I had tests this week, but no results as yet. Three – I don’t even know what three is anymore, because all these things are so petty.

Somehow this has all lead to the two year old on the inside coming out and reigning supreme. It’s like she’s done a swap with my adult self, and I don’t know how to reverse it. I’m p*ssy at the world, and my therapist, for no good reason at all.

All the irrational thoughts and feelings I once had, and seemed to have rationalised back where they belong, have come screaming forth. All the stuff about the world being against me, my therapist *hating* me, my therapist abandoning me, me being useless… blah blah blah. It’s all back. I even cried at the doctor’s office today – quelle horreur!

I don’t know how to get it back under control. I’ve tried rationalising; I’ve tried talking to the little kid (but who can talk to a toddler in the midst of a tantrum?); I’ve tried resting/soothing … I don’t know what else to try. It’s like two years of therapy have just vanished – poof!

Please, adult self, wherever you are, ple-e-a-a-se come back!

Expressive Arts Carnival – Internal World

This month’s Expressive Arts Carnival activity is to portray your inner world in an abstract form. Like others I thought I’d struggle with the abstract, though once I got my head around it I think I did ok.

I’ve been doing a bit of drawing lately, so having what part of me sees as “homework” always gets things moving.

Before I show you my entry for the Carnival, here are a couple of other pieces I played with.

These first ones were just an attempt to get me drawing freehand. In a tribute to the great abstract artists, I call the first one “Chickens” and the second “Graffiti”:

 

Anyway, here is my submission. I know the due date isn’t for a while but given surgery and all I’m not sure when I’ll be up to trying something else.

To me this represents my eternal quest for balance – balance between the light and the dark; the good and the bad; the emotional, physical and spiritual. I haven’t got there (yet) but I keep trying. Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I never seem to get there. It’s a never ending struggle, each competing with the other for prominence.

The lightness tries to spread its wings and counter the darkness, but the darkness is always there, lying in wait, sneaking up on me and my light side to GRAB me just when I don’t need it to.

The use of black and white is no coincidence. My internal world is very black and white; there’s no colour at all. I’m trying to counter my black and white thinking but the internal world is still monochrome.

Puzzled and pointless

I’m still feeling wretched. I have moments of feeling ok – like the first twenty seconds of being awake, until I remember what has happened – and then I fall apart again. I thought I was ok to go to work today, but as soon as I left the house the tears started again (actually they started in the shower, but you don’t need those details). It’s like in the early days when I didn’t understand how the world could go on; when everything in my world seems to be falling apart.

I can’t sleep. I’m not hungry. Everything just feels wrong and I feel broken. The food thing has me puzzled, as I’ve traditionally been captain of the binge eating club to squash any emotions. Why not this time, too?

I haven’t been able to see my therapist yet. She wasn’t able to see me last night as there were workmen at her office. I’m pleased she didn’t subject me to them or their noise, as tradesmen are a big trigger for me. I’ll see her tonight instead. (For those of you worried that I won’t go, I will. She shuffled another client around to see me, so I will go, if for no other reason that not to muck her about given she did this.)

I’m puzzled that you all seem to think this wasn’t my fault, that there’s not something inherently wrong with me. If there’s not, then why can’t I find anyone who wants to be with me? For some reason the universe has seen fit to deny me the things I most desire. I don’t understand why.

I never thought there was much hope, but my therapist thought there was. So I put my faith in her. Silly, silly me. That’s only led to heartache and pain, as I should have known it would.

There seems no point to anything anymore. I can’t see how I’ll get over this. I know I can’t go back to hiding in loneliness and isolation. But I also can’t go forward. That’s where my thoughts turn to the pills.

Not-so-Nice – Part 2

Hi everyone

I just wanted to say thank you for all your messages of love and support since yesterday. Ordinarily I’d write you individual replies in the comments, but I’m just not up to that right now, I’m sorry. I do appreciate you all though.

I have cried so much I look like I have black eyes, my nose is raw and I have used an entire box of tissues.

I’m still gutted. I feel raw, fragile and numb all at the same time if that is possible.

The Wonder Therapist, bless her, has offered to see me tonight (Sunday), because she knows how upset I am. She probably also knows how things like this are a fast track to self-loathing for me.

This has brought up all those old feelings of wanting to hurt myself, and worse. It doesn’t matter. Don’t say that it does, because it doesn’t. For all her “wonders”, the Wonder Therapist was wrong about one thing. It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. I was a fool to think I did, or that I could have a relationship and family like any “normal” person.

In other news, one of my other Polyvore collages won 3rd place in a competition about isolation. Great (said with all the sarcasm in the world, because I really couldn’t care less right now).

Feeling funky

Following on yesterday’s triggery mess, I’ve been feeling down today. Self-loathing on high. Tears somewhere under the surface but unable to spring forth properly (except when I’m reading other people’s blogs).

I hate it when I’m like this. I have a session with the Wonder Therapist later today so I’m hoping she can work some of her magic.

Fear and loathing in…

Well, you know I don’t live in Las Vegas, but “fear and loathing Down Under” didn’t quite have the same ring.

A lot has happened since my last post. Too many twists and turns to describe in detail. What I did want to talk about is this:

Funny how you can be travelling along kinda nicely, if a little miserable, but trying hard to believe in the faith that others have in you, and then you do something that makes you feel completely and utterly ashamed of yourself. Disgusted. Appalled. Filthy and rotten to the core. A dirty, rotten scoundrel*.

Yep, that’s me.

I’m not going into details, but trust me when I say I’m disgusting. I haven’t been able to shower enough to wash off this scunge. I haven’t wanted to write for fear of infecting you. And I certainly don’t want to talk to my therapist about it (though I will, my Inner Compass is good at keeping some common sense, even when the rest of me completely abandons all rationality).

And, yes, it has made me want to do things to myself that I haven’t done for quite a while.

For those of you thinking this is just my Inner Critic talking again: it’s not. She’s very quiet at the moment. She’s just sitting smugly in the corner filing her nails. It’s a shame the rest of me couldn’t follow her lead.

* Use of movie titles unintentional and of no psychological significance, other than perhaps that I am so pathetic that I cannot even to find my own words to describe how I feel.

Splat!

That’s me. That’s how I feel today. Like a bug on a windscreen.

I’ve been challenging myself, and while I’m not ready to disclose details here, I will say that at the first hint of failure, the first whiff of rejection, my inner critic is back in overdrive.

“See? I was right all along. You can’t have faith in yourself because there’s nothing to have faith in. No one would want to be with you because you’re a stupid, ugly, useless troll. I knew it all along – why didn’t you listen to me? What an idiot you were to believe the Wonder Therapist – ha! Now the whole world is laughing at you – what a fool!

You were wrong to open up and think that life could be different. You should have stayed in your icy shell. At least we did well there and you didn’t pussy foot about with all this garbage about ‘happiness’. Get a grip on yourself.”

I wish I had the strength some others have to move on, or to love and care for myself during setbacks like this. But I don’t. The inner critic is racing through the desert in a frenzy of negativity and I am the bug on the windscreen.

For something useful to read on this topic – try Dr Kathleen Young.