Sabotage and randomness

Yay! Today is the last day of Nablopomo. I will kind of miss writing every day (though of course I still can) – but I definitely won’t miss it when I feel I have nothing to say, or when I get home late and just can’t be bothered.

In my last post I mentioned having kissed Nice Guy yesterday – AND liking it. Thanks everyone for all your supportive comments. I hate to sound clichéd, but when we kiss, it’s like fireworks go off. It’s good. At least I think it is. Or is it? I don’t know.*  

I keep questioning everything with Nice Guy in my head, even though I know it’s not helpful. I don’t question it with him because I don’t want to sabotage things.

• Why does he like me?
• What does he want with me?
• Why is he interested (if not in s*x)?
• Why does he say nice things? What does he want?
• Why doesn’t he call?
• Why does he call? What does he want?
• What danger am I not seeing?

The Wonder Therapist says: “Of course he’s interested. You’re an intelligent, attractive woman. Why wouldn’t he be interested?”

I still don’t understand that question, even though she’s said it a dozen or more times in my 20-odd months of therapy.

Enough navel gazing for today. In a final tribute to the Nablo writing prompts, today’s is: What’s the first thing you notice about a man when you meet him? A woman?

With men, I usually notice height, size, clothes, aftershave. The first three are sometimes scary for me – the latter is usually not.

With women I always notice how they are dressed, how they do their hair, and their make-up. Are they perfectly coiffed? Perfectly manicured? Or not? That sounds judgemental and I guess it is – but of myself, not others. I always always ALWAYS compare myself to other women – they are usually prettier than me, skinnier than me, better dressed than me, have nicer hair than me, blah blah blah. I know this kind of thinking isn’t helpful, so now I try just to notice how different women are. Some are short; some are tall. Some have big hips; some have small. Some have blonde hair; others brown. Just noticing. Not judging. So they are taller/shorter, bigger/smaller, prettier or not… what does it matter? On the inside we are all pretty much the same. It helps to remember this. Sometimes.

On a couple of unrelated matters:

• The organisation I’m applying for a job with requires a “commitment to Chr1st1an values”. What is that? Does that mean I have to praise g*d every time I walk in the building? Or just respect others if they want to thank g*d for printing their documents? Apologies to anyone this offends – I’m not a practising Chr1st1an. Never have been, never will be.
• And why am I getting hits from some home mortgage site in the US???

~

*  For anyone thinking this means I slept with him or am planning to sleep with him – I didn’t and I’m not. Not necessarily. May be. I don’t know. If I do, it’s my business. I understand you’re trying to be supportive and help ensure I have a good and healing experience if I do sleep with him, but truth be told? I’ve felt judged. So forgive me if I sound snippy when I say that your judgements aren’t welcome here, though your love is.

Rudeness

I’ve been replaying a moment from last week’s therapy session in my head, so thought may be it warranted writing down and exploring.

I mentioned to my therapist that I’d be visiting my parents over the weekend and, for whatever reason, she asked what we’d do.

Me: “Well, my mother will probably update me on all the neighbours, though I don’t really care. Then she’ll b!tch about my father – that’s guaranteed.”

The Wonder Therapist: “And your father? What will he be doing? Sitting in his chair?”

Me: “Yes, he’ll sit in his chair. If I’m *lucky* he won’t speak to me, otherwise he’ll say things like ‘I’m thirsty’ – which means get him a cup of tea. And by 11.30am he’ll be saying ‘I’m hungry – aren’t I getting anything to eat today?’ – which means hurry up and make lunch. Or if the TV is on, he’ll say ‘I can’t hear the television’ or ‘the television is too loud’ – which means turn it up/down. It’s always been like that.”

The Wonder Therapist (in a not-so-wonderful moment): Looking shocked, speechless.

I felt bad afterwards for inflicting my father’s hideousness on her, but in some ways I guess that’s what she’s there for.

And then I read Phoenix’s comment saying she was “psychically walloping your dad upside the head with a croquet mallet, pouring hot Earl Grey tea in his lap and ‘tasing’”.

I guess it didn’t really hit me until I saw my therapist’s face and read Phoenix’s comment that my father really is one of the rudest, most obnoxious people I know.

Quite apart from the heinous sh1t he inflicted on my mother and me all those years ago, he continues to be an emotionally abusive sh1thead as well.

How my mother can still live in the same house as him I will never understand, but I can’t take responsibility for that anymore.

I guess this is just another part of me realising his behaviour is wrong; was wrong; was always wrong. Just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean it’s any less obnoxious.

Oh, and by the way, in unrelated news – today I really can say “I kissed a boy and I liked it!”

Insomnia

Listen up. In case you didn’t know; in case you hadn’t heard – insomnia’s a b!tch.

I’ve been doing that thing where you go to bed, and go to sleep reasonably easily, only to wake up every hour or two throughout the night. Sometimes I’m awake for ten minutes, sometimes for an hour. Sometimes I look at the clock, groan, and then go back to sleep. It’s like having a new baby; only I don’t get a smile in the morning. Even the cat squints at me as if to say, “Good grief! What are you doing??” Needless to say that when the alarm shrieks at me in the morning, all I want to do is go back to sleep.

My therapist says this type of insomnia is a symptom of anxiety. (No sh!t.) A symptom… and sometimes also a cause. I know that lack of sleep is like heroin to my inner critic. Also to my depression. I have sleeping pills, but given my state of mind I haven’t wanted to use them. I haven’t trusted myself to use them as prescribed.

But I think tonight is a sleeping pill night. I’m sick of waking up feeling unable to function.

The interwebs tells me that insomnia:

• Makes you fuzzy-headed and impairs your ability to function (tick and tick)
• Can lead to serious health problems like cardiovascular disease, weight gain (tick), hypertension and diabetes
• Can lead to serious mental health problems like low self-esteem (tick), depression (tick) and anxiety (tick)
• Impairs mental alertness and delays reaction times, making driving and operating heavy machinery dangerous (I didn’t tick this one as I didn’t think operating the laptop or my iP0d classified as “heavy machinery”)
• Can shorten your fuse and make you snarky, impacting on your relationships (tick – my tolerance for my mother’s shenanigans is always lower when I’m tired)

So I guess that’s some explanation for the way I’ve been feeling.

I also didn’t realise what a big impact my job was having on my state of mind. Not until I found a job ad for another position this morning. For the last few weeks I’ve been dragging myself into work, with the weight of the world on my shoulders. I can’t seem to muster enthusiasm for anything. I’m bored beyond belief, and snarky at the slightest thing. I hide at home at least one day per week, still working, but only as much as I need to. I think about work, and I want to cry.

But reading this job ad, I felt a lightness… an enthusiasm… a drive. It was like sunlight breaking through the clouds after a month of rain. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like. Needless to say I’ll be putting my hat in the ring. I’m also tempted to talk to my boss about how much I hate my current job. You might think that’s not so smart, but she thinks the sun shines out of my proverbial orifice and we have a good relationship so I think she’ll be receptive.

In other news, I was beating myself up in therapy last week about my (perceived) inability to do this relationship business:

Me: “Why the hell do I want this stupid relationship thing anyway?”

The Wonder Therapist: “Because it’s human nature.”

Well, there you go. I’m not such a freak after all.

Triggers and healing

*** WARNING: COULD BE TRIGGERING. PLEASE TAKE CARE ***

Thanks everyone for your support over the last few days. I’m still feeling pretty low, but doing ok. I spent today listening to nice music, reading my book, and putting fresh, crisp sheets on the bed to make me feel good. I’m hoping this will all help to turn things around – it has at least passed time.

I was playing around on the computer last night and got triggered. I was playing some of the silly games on one of those social networking sites – you know the ones. Anyway, a friend made a stupid s*xual remark that just tipped me over the edge. The trigger was nasty, but I didn’t lose touch with reality like I sometimes do. I was unbelievably furious… but I was able to do some thinking afterwards.

I got to thinking about why my views of s*x are so screwed up. I’ve talked before about my past, so I’m not going to dredge that up again here. I did find a website, though, that talks about s*xual healing after s*xual abuse.

The site talks about the sorts of problems survivors might experience “in the bedroom”:

• Avoiding or being afraid of sex
• Approaching sex as an obligation
• Experiencing negative feelings such as anger, disgust, or guilt with touch
• Having difficulty becoming aroused or feeling sensation
• Feeling emotionally distant or not present during sex
• Experiencing intrusive or disturbing sexual thoughts and images
• Engaging in compulsive or inappropriate sexual behaviours
• Experiencing difficulty establishing or maintaining an intimate relationship
• Experiencing vaginal pain or orgasmic difficulties
• Experiencing erectile or ejaculatory difficulties

Yep, that’s me. Most of it, anyway. I am afraid of s*x. I associate it with all sorts of negative feelings. I often dissociate during s*x. The Evil Huntress comes out; I do whatever it is I think I *should* do; and I end up feeling worse than when I started.  

I’m not sure why a conversation on a social networking site would bring this all up, but it did. Actually it’s pretty obvious to me now – the comments I received made me feel vulnerable; made me feel like I didn’t have a choice. Just like all those years ago.

The same website lists a whole stack of attitudes towards s*x. It says that when s*x is abusive, we get messages like s*x is uncontrollable; it’s an obligation; it’s hurtful; it’s something *done* to us; it done for one person’s benefit only; it’s unsafe and it has no boundaries.

I identify with all of those things.

What I have trouble identifying with is the list of “healthy” attitudes to s*x – that it’s a choice; it’s pleasurable; it’s nurturing; it’s respectful; it’s mutual, and it’s intimate. The website says we have a right to experience s*x in this way. That seems so foreign. Cognitively I understand it; I just don’t identify with it. But I’d like to.

I guess that’s possibly why I’ve been so focussed on s*x with Nice Guy. I think that’s what he expects. I’m still learning that it might not be the sole focus of his existence and that he has thoughts, feelings, etc just like I do.

Nice Guy is gentle, respectful, caring. I’ve never experienced that before. I’d like to find a way to enjoy it – to learn to heal s*xually, I suppose, so that I can.

More work to do with the therapist, I suspect. And another gut-wrenching, squirm-inducing topic to do it over. Sigh.

Here

 

I’m here.

The funk continues, but I’m trying to put one foot in front of the other.

I visited my parents today. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done but it passed the time. My father’s rudeness never ceases to amaze me. Some days I cannot fathom why I don’t whack him in the head, or pour hot tea on him.

On the way home I bought a new book to read. It got a good review in the newspaper. I’m hoping that some time on the couch, with book and blankie and kitty, might also pass time.

There’s quite a lot of pills in the cupboard. Decent pills. I’m trying not to think about them; trying not to go in the cupboard.

Still funky

Yep, the funk continues.

I saw the Wonder Therapist today. I confessed to feeling a little suicidal. Rational brain knows that’s a good thing. The rest of me doesn’t see the point.

I would like to go to sleep for a few days to let this pass. Alas, I know that won’t help. The cr@p in my head will still be there when I wake up.

Reasons for feeling funky

I saw the Wonder Therapist last night and she helped me identify some of the reasons I’ve been feeling funky. Actually, first she helped me cry. I’d been struggling to cry properly all day and almost as soon as I pulled up to her building I could feel the tears start. Thankfully it was dark so I didn’t have to worry too much about being seen. But as soon as I sat down in her office the tears started properly.

I always feel bad when I do that. The Wonder Therapist has worked hard to help me into a better space and I feel like a failure, and like I’m letting her down.

Anyway, we talked about a few things and we figured out some of the reasons I’m feeling so funky:

• I’ve been feeling triggery and messy much of the week. It happened again today – people at work “sneaking” up on me, and creeping me out. I hate that.
• I think some of the health issues that were meant to be addressed by surgery are back. It’s painful and I’m sick of it. It’s so frustrating to have gone through all that and then discover it didn’t work.
• My bestest friend’s marriage is crumbling. It’s horrible to see, and frustrating there’s nothing I can do. My friend has been coming to me for support, which I’m totally happy about… but now her sister is on that band wagon, as well as one of the husband’s friends. That’s ok… well, the sister is a bit of a parasite to be honest… I guess she’s drained me.
• Another friend has been having boy trouble and coming to me for help. What do I know about such things, geez? I like to be there for people, to help them and support them, and I’m happy to do it… it’s just that at the moment it’s sucking the life out of me.
• I hate my job. It’s boring. I mean really boring. I’m over it. I keep trying to remind myself that it’s serving a different purpose at the moment – meaning that it’s allowing me time and flexibility to do other things, that it’s getting me used to working in a positive environment, yadda yadda yadda. But I’ve been hating it so much that I worry these things aren’t enough anymore.
• Nice Guy has been sick for over a week now. Rationally, I understand this. Emotionally, I’m convinced he hates me. I’m a mess.
• I haven’t been sleeping well – waking up four, five, six times a night. It’s a drag.

The Wonder Therapist asked me if I’d mentioned any of this to my mother.

Me: “Ha! What do you think?”

She asked me what I’d like my mother to do when I’m feeling like this… I mumbled something about soup… but what I actually wanted to say was that I’d like a mother who would come over and give me a hug, tell me things would be ok, listen to me without telling me not to be “silly”. I know that’s never going to happen, but you know, it’s ok to recognise what you’d like I guess.

We also talked about a holiday I have planned for later this year and what might happen if my father dies while I’m away.

Me: “I don’t know. I won’t have him ruin my holiday. Put him in the freezer and I’ll deal with him when I get back.”

Wonder T: laughing “I’m sorry, I can’t help but laugh at that.”

Me: “That’s ok. I know I’m being flippant, but seriously, he’s ruined enough of me and my life without ruining my holiday as well.”

Wonder T: “Absolutely. You’re absolutely right.”

I’m still feeling low, though the session helped. In a fit of madness and bankruptcy I’m seeing the therapist again tomorrow. I’m not sure I want to see another weekend through feeling like this. It’s too miserable.

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.

A triggery mess

I’ve been feeling triggery and weird today. I don’t know why, or what started it, but every noise, every person near me seemed to make my skin crawl and my heart pound.

I’m not sure know why this happened, and I’m not sure I want to know why.

I hate it when that happens.

I don’t like Mondays

One of my favourite practitioner blogs is Trench Warfare. It’s kinda snarky, but I love it. Reas recently posted about pointless, boring, time-sucking meetings. Work meetings, you understand, not the AA kind, or any other kind.

My Mondays are filled with pointless, boring, time-sucking meetings. As if Monday mornings aren’t bad enough on their own, I have two to two-and-a-half hours of comatosing drivel to sit through. It drives me crazy.

The first meeting – at 9am, I might add – is for the “managers”. They are doofuses. Trust me when I say this – most have been in the organisation for something approaching 100 years. They’re negative, cynical, objectionable men. They wear brown cardigans in the winter and shorts with long socks in the summer. They talk about the minutiae of the business in ways that I’m sure don’t interest ANYONE and they keep referring to things that happened back in 1987. Like anyone cares????? I’m not into detail so it just drives me nuts. It makes me want to stick a pen in my eye.

The other meeting is for the senior managers. You’d think this would be more interesting, but today was just beyond a joke. To begin with I’d only just scraped myself out of my coma from the previous meeting. Then we started half an hour late, which just annoyed the sh** out of me. Then the others didn’t have their papers and kept talking about all sorts of irrelevant garbage. AND they wanted to talk detail again. Give me strength! It made me want to stab myself with the whiteboard marker.

I came out of the meetings grumpier than I went in – which wasn’t hard today, but really, it just sets the whole day up for cr@p.

I heard on my favourite TV show (which I’m watching again, for about the tenth time ) that the song “I don’t like Mondays” is actually about a girl who goes and shoots all her classmates. Pretty sad, really. I don’t like Mondays either but I’m only going to commit grievous harm with the pens.

And a special thanks to my friend who helped me find a workable version of this song to put here. You’re ace, CG!