my education

I’ve had the Alan Parson’s Project stuck in my brain for 3 days now.  The songs, The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether, and The Raven.  Just what you need to make you feel better, just what you need to make you feel…you’re in need of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether…Doth Quoth the Raven….Evermore….

It occurred to me that I got my Edgar Allen Poe education via the Alan Parson’s Project and my classical music exposure via Looney Tunes.  Pretty pathetic.

I should update about the school situation but I don’t want to do it right now.  I’m pretty depressed.  Not about the school stuff, that seems to be moving forward in a positive way actually, but I’m drained and depleted and heading into a difficult time of year anyway.

I’m lonely, isolated, stuck, and depressed and see no way out.  I’m not sleeping well.  I don’t want to live like this anymore.

 

I wonder if it’s a “mom” thing, this protective drive we have.  It’s almost primal.  I become Wonder Woman when it comes to my son.

I’ve been working on the follow up letter to send to the district.  I do not appreciate the threat against voicing my concerns about the teacher refusing to implement my son’s IEP.  I don’t appreciate being told not to worry about failing grades, that they are meaningless.  I don’t appreciate being told by the teacher that she knows better than the SPED team what my son needs when he is failing her class.

This also goes against my nature.  I don’t like making waves.  And I’m not looking  forward to fighting her retaliation.  I didn’t go to college and I don’t remember much of anything about composition so I’m having a hard time putting the letter together.  I have good advice, though, from a very good LD/SPED forum, and  I’m very grateful to the kind, experienced and very intelligent people there.

I’m trying not to let my emotions get in the way.  I’m trying to lay out the facts.  I tried to do that at conferences, too, and I actually did OK, even amid the “squeaky wheel” accusations and “shouting’ accusations.  It wasn’t until that story about DS that made me cry that I lost it.  That shook me because I couldn’t stop, and I mean I couldn’t stop for hours.  I have to get a handle on the crying if I’m to fight this, and it looks like this will be a royal battle.

small victory

Man, I was hit out of the blue with an ancient memory accompanied by a deluge of shame tonight.  Shame that weighs you down and makes you want to hide and want to just die.

I chose to rise above that memory and reject that shame.  I had to really think about how to chose not to live in that shame.  How do I reject this shame and rise above it?  I was able to do it.  I don’t know how, but I was able to do it.

I’m not going to go into that memory now.  I’m going to keep it in the past.  Part of what keeps me down, keeps me trapped in my house, afraid of living is living in the past.

I chose to rise above.  I chose life over death.  This is huge.

Battling my demons tonight.   I’ve been battling these demons for awhile actually, but tonight it’s been hard.  That ever present inner critic beating me down.

I begin to think that I can rise above all this, go to school and learn some skills so I can get a job and that damn inner critic starts in: you’re pathetic, a loser, stupid, ugly, inept, worthless…

and I can feel the physical weight of these accusations.  I can’t fight them off anymore.

I ruminate about my recent doctor appointment, feeling shame because the doctor must see me for who I really am, shit the whole world must look at me and see what a worthless piece of junk I am.

I can’t fight these thoughts off tonight.

butterflies

We went to the zoo today.  I specifically wanted to see the butterfly exhibit.  The weather was beautiful, sunny, mid-70’s.  A little crowded, though.  I did ok with the crowd.

It was beautiful.  There were many, many different kinds of butterflies fluttering around, and it was planted with many different flowering plants.  Soft, instrumental music was piped in to add to the atmosphere.

I became overwhelmed with emotion and I started to cry.  I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from all out sobbing.  I have no idea why I had this reaction.  I was so embarrassed.  My two sons were with me and heard me sniffling, asked me if I had allergies.  I just nodded my head and turned away and tried to get a grip.   I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.

the status quo

The Ask Amy advice column in today’s paper struck a chord for me today.

Here it is:

Dear Amy:

I just got back from my family reunion. A situation arose that caused unpleasantness. Some family members suggest that I owe an apology. I would like your opinion. As the day wore on, more and more alcohol was consumed. One of my cousins (age 50) had been seen drinking frequently, and two people voiced concern because he was intending not only to drive home, but also to drive another cousin and his elderly mother.

I chatted with both mother and cousin, who voiced some concern. I offered them sleeping accommodations. I took the drinking cousin aside and said that some were concerned that he was drinking enough to jeopardize his driving. I offered to try to find some sleeping space at my mother’s house, where the reunion was hosted. He said he would be fine. I asked him if he didn’t mind telling me how many beers he had consumed. He said that he had drunk eight or 10 beers, and I said, “That’s a lot.” He then got visibly angry and said he was tired of these games. He told his mother and cousin that he was driving them home “now,” and did so. He drove home without incident.

Some felt that this proved I was wrong to question his drinking. My cousin is now mad at me. Some have suggested that it was none of my business how much my cousin drank and noted that I was the cause of angst when everybody was so happy before.What do you think?

TRYING TO DO RIGHT

Amy says:

Following the reasoning of your family members, your cousin would have had to crash his car for your concerns to be valid — or perhaps his arrest on drunken-driving charges would have sufficed. You don’t owe anyone an apology. When someone is drunk and leaves a gathering where he has consumed alcohol, the people hosting the party can be held responsible for whatever happens once that person leaves. Your cousin’s belligerence when confronted with his drinking is typical and to be expected from someone who has a problem he won’t face.

In dysfunctional family systems, there is the unspoken rule that the dysfunction must be maintained at all cost. This was certainly true in my childhood.

My dad is alcoholic. My mother had binge eating disorder. Her mother came from an alcoholic family. My great grandfather was a violent drunk. My grandmother, who was the oldest of many children, remembers gathering her siblings together and hiding in the closet when her dad came home drunk from the bar. My grandparents did not drink, but the dysfunctional behaviors remained.

I have an aunt, now deceased, who was a severe alcoholic. She never left her house and called people asking them to bring her booze. One of my fears was that I would become like her. I don’t think anyone ever tried to get her any help.

I remember getting beers for my dad and sneaking sips when I was very young. When I found out that my dad was giving my infant daughter sips of wine I knew that I would have to put a stop to that. It was one of the hardest things that I’ve ever had to do, standing up to my dad. I told him to stop and he did.

I’m trying to take a good hard look at my own family now, and see where my blind spots are, where am I trying to stick with the status quo? What dysfunction am I trying to protect?

I try very hard to hide my struggles from my kids. I try to keep my fight very private. I think I’ve been successful in this. They never saw me drink or drunk. I was lucky. I hope this isn’t one of my blind spots.

the mother-in-law

Oooh.  Just checking out this blog of 10 more extremely bizarre phobias tonight and see that I have a name for one of my phobias, something new to add to my list of ailments.

Pentheraphobia: Fear of Mother-in-law.

This is a woman who told me, “Hubby was a good boy, until he met YOU!”  and she wasn’t kidding. This was the final insult.  I had endured multiple digs prior to this but ignored them, not really knowing how to deal with it.  It was then that I made the decision to stop associating with the in-laws.  I am polite.  I don’t visit them.  And I don’t feel bad about it, either.

strength

Sigh.

I think I can write about it now.  I’m stronger than I thought.  There was a point two weeks ago when I honestly thought that I wasn’t going to make it.  I really thought that I was going to die.

I’ve been going to my DBT group for 1 1/2 years now.  I loved my group.  One of my struggles is that I tend towards agoraphobia.  This group has been my source of social support.  I’ve learned so much, and not just the skills.  I’ve learned that I’m not the hideous monster that I’ve made myself out to be.  I can fit in with a group.

Therapy has been a struggle.  When I read back I see that I’ve had doubts about it for a long time.  T can be very validating at times and therapy can feel like a battle.  I think that’s par for the course.

Therapy has gone wrong.  I don’t want to get in to the particulars, but I’ve lost all trust with him.  He happens to be co-leader of DBT group.  I’ve decided to stop both.  This was a heart wrenching decision that brings me to tears, even now and it’s been 2 weeks.

T has called me twice in that time.  Both times, when I saw his name on caller ID, I started shaking, my legs got weak, I started to cry and my heart began to race.  What in the world is going on with me? I don’t understand the fear response at all.  Nothing happened in therapy to warrant this response, yet it’s happening and it is very real.  I am not usually like this.

We had been opening up old wounds in therapy.  Painful ones, obviously, deep ones.  They’ve gone unresolved.  At our last session, I brought in a journal entry, like I had been doing in previous sessions.  This one wasn’t pretty.  It had been a very difficult week.  I wanted him to see exactly where I was at so I didn’t censor as much as I usually do.  He couldn’t have been more invalidating in his response to what I wrote.

One of the things that got to me the most was I journaled about an incident with a person who had sexually abused me when I was 13.  My t then discussed what I had written, spoke the names out loud, actually got the name of my abuser wrong, and then I don’t remember anything, I don’t remember what he said except that I found it to be so hurtful, so cruel even.   Then he said that I was creating my own emotional pain by staying in emotion mind.  Said journaling is fine if I want to relate facts but not if I want to relate emotions.

I journaled about another very painful memory.  I felt like it all blew up in my face.  I shared some really painful stuff and he shit all over it.  And this isn’t the worst of it, but I’m not going to get into the rest right now.

I don’t understand my response to his mere phone calls.  It doesn’t make any sense.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I felt so alone, so hurt.  I stayed sober.  I called my old therapist.  I made good decisions, healthy decisions in the midst of the storm.  I didn’t know that I could do this.

To Write Love on Her Arms

I discovered this web site last night, To Write Love on Her Arms.  I was awestruck by what I read, by the love and compassion these people have shown to a group of people that are generally stigmatized.  Depressed, addicted, suicidal people who engage in self injurious behaviors.  People who are without hope, who are despairing, who have given up on themselves. They reach out and try to help, they try to rescue the lost, bring them some hope.

We need more people like this in the world.

therapy

(catching up, written on 4-1-09)

I was in a foul mood today.  It was strange, it started out ok, but my mood was swinging fast and hard.  I finally left.  Went driving alone at night.  Drove 200 miles.

I’m seriously thinking about quitting DBT and therapy.  I should say good-bye to one of the people there, first.  I feel I owe her that.

(The following is what I perceived, and is not necessarily the message intended by t):

I’m feeling like t has pulled the rug out from under me.  I was beginning to validate within myself that I have legitimate reasons for being fucking nuts.  T basically said that I’m just like anyone else.  Lots of people have emotion mind thoughts that keep them down. He doesn’t know what percent, but lots.

I should have listened to my inner wisdom and stopped going to church. I have no right to be angry with God.  Shouldn’t have expected God to work miracles in my life.  It was an unreasonable expectation that God would bless me with friendships within His Body. The way of Jesus is the way of the cross and rife with pain and suffering, DUH  I shouldn’t have expected anything less.

If I dissociated the other day, it’s because I read a book about it.  I don’t recall sharing with him any books about dissociation, but what the hell.

(My thoughts) It’s just me.  There is something intrinsically wrong with me, that’s not mental illness or diagnosable or worthy of a label, I’m one of society’s pieces of trash. I’m wasting resources.

I’m really hoping that DH takes the boys to visit his parents so I can be alone.  I’m feeling very self destructive right now, hearing that siren song and it’s irresistible.