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Life and Pain
I’ve been struggling super hard. I feel like a failure all the time at everything. Sir has me on a new plan, as he and SB are at work, and I’m off for the summer. We’re using an app called Ike, rather than a traditional to-do list. It has, basically, urgent items, important items, “fit it in if you can” items and “back burner” items. Each evening he goes over it with me and we set my goals for the next day. Every day, “write” is on the “important” list. I’ve just about gotten ready to give up and put it on the back burner list. Or just delete it…
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Facebook Famous
No. Not at all. Really. But I do have a Facebook presence now. I had to get creative to get Facebook to accept a name that isn’t mine (I know, you were going to get all excited for a minute there… BWAH HA HA! None shall know me!) Um, ironically, the three people who actually read this blog all know me in real life, so… That’s… Yeah. Anyway, if you don’t know me and you’d like to follow my Facebook page. You’re welcome to. It won’t be safe for work. It will probably blog updates (so if you already get those, you don’t have to get too excited) and memes,…
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The Center Cannot Hold
It was a three-doctor week, this week. Trauma therapy, psychotherapy, psychiatry… I had flashbacks for six hours on Monday night. They would stop then start again within 5 – 10 minutes. For six hours. I literally begged Sir to kill me. My psychiatrist suggested I don’t process as much trauma during trauma therapy. I explained to him that my trauma therapy consists of resting my hand on a pillow, squeezing play-dough, and imaginging walking on a beach… I’m not sure how much less trauma processing I can do in trauma therapy. I feel like my mind is unraveling. I’ve developed a stutter. It’s been getting worse for weeks, but this…
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Broken Toys
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Disconnect – Moments with Sir (sort of)
It’s Tuesday. Monday is somatic therapy night. Last week it was 6.5 hours of rolling flashbacks night. This week I came home armored with Ativan and Zyprexa prescriptions. My doctor is pulling out the big guns. My Fitbit recorded a flashback a few weeks ago. I was taking my PTSD meds at the time. My heartrate still managed to go from 64 to 220 in minutes. With alpha-1-adenergic antagonist in my system. So, basically, a drug was actively suppressing my body’s ability to chemically create a fear response and I still managed to jack my heartrate over 300%. Go me! So, I went to somatic therapy yesterday. I had a…
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Third Try…
Sir wants me to try this again. It’s evening now. I talked to my best friend, S, for a long time this morning and it helped for a while. But, ultimately, what’s wrong with me can’t be talked through or reasoned through or… anythinged through. I am perfectly aware that my feelings are irrational, illogical, not based in reality… at least not in the reality anyone else around me experiences. In spite of that knowledge, they have complete power over me. And I’m tired of feeling like a failure for not being able to reason my way out of them. I feel like I’m under assault, under attack, in a…
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Broken Toys
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The Lies
Sir didn’t like my writing. He said to “be honest this time.” I was honest. Fuck everyone. Now he says to write the lies. Write the lies that are in my head, even if I know they’re lies. He says to write them down. He’s trying to trick me. He’ll go send this to my doctors and then they’ll know. It’s a trick. He thinks I’m stupid. Fine. You want lies? Here are yours… People like me. I’m a capable person. I’m a good teacher. I’m a good patient. I’m responsible. I have good social skills. I know when to shut up. My principal likes me. I’m a good friend.…
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Sinking
Sir says, “Write about it.” He doesn’t understand. Everything is too hard. He gave me all my pills this morning and waited an hour, and now he says to write about it. And if I do what he says I’m just proving that I can and when I say I can’t he won’t believe me next time because… I can. I can do everything. Nothing matters because I’m fine. I can write. I can take my pills. I can eat when he tells me to. I can go to work. I can do my job. I can do everything. So nothing matters. I can write. I’m writing. Sir wants me…
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Well shit…
I just realized my last post was in February. At the beginning of February. Shit. I feel like a failure at writing. Definitely a failure at blogging. Just a failure in general right now. Our dynamic is in really difficult straits right now. We try to push into it in small ways and sometimes it works and other times it results in horrible things. I feel like my own mind is a minefield. I’ve started somatic trauma therapy. On top of psychotherapy. On top of psychiatric drug therapy. I see doctors three days a week nowdays. Mondays are trauma therapy days, and the shit really and truly hits the fan…
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Update
We’re trying something new and radical. Going back to our dynamic. I know, right? Madness! I’m supposed to write on both blogs tonight. The other one took too long and I have to go to bed. But… I have to meet expectations, so… My ass is sore and itchy (no one ever talks about how fucking itchy it is when a spanking heals! Not sexy enough, huh?) And I hate… most everything right now. It’s been a rough week. Update complete. Goodnight!
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Against the Walls – Moments with Sir
Sir and Sub Brother have been home for a few days. It’s been nice to have them back. But it is also lonely because it feels as if my issues are walls that keep us all separated from each other. Tonight, I took my meds early, took several deep breaths, and then asked Sir to play. I expected him to say, “no.” He’s relaxed the “no touching” rule since they’ve come back, but… play is a whole other level of… potential landmines. Instead he asked me to sit and had me explain my feelings and thinking to him. I squirmed and stammered and blushed a lot. It was uncomfortable to…