overwhelmed...but determined

I haven't been sleeping well this week.

I've reverted to sleeping with a stuffed animal ever since Mom was hospitalized, but even he hasn't been able to keep me calm the whole night through, not this week. Sometimes it helps if I turn on the blue LED lights strung over my headboard.

I feel like a child again, afraid of the dark.

Afraid of my dark.

But I've done some thinking; what else is there to do at 3 a.m. when you can't sleep but are too tired to do anything else?

And I've realized that none of this is new.


Nothing in that pit I've opened up is new. Nothing in it is foreign to me - it's all happened to me, in the past, which means I faced it once and survived. I may not have dealt with it entirely at the time, but I survived, and this time I won't be facing those things alone. I'll have a lot of good, experienced people helping me sort through and empty out that pit. And teaching me how to keep it from filling up again.

It's still a scary thought.

But running away from it won't make it go away. I know that pit is there now. I know it's not healthy to leave it there.

Mom started seeing a psychiatrist recently too. Mom has never had a peaceful life, and she deals with it all the same way I deal with it - burying it, going on, always the strong one. She asked her psychiatrist if that stress, over all those years, never vented, could have contributed to her streak of cancer and autoimmune diseases. The answer: "More and more doctors are looking at it that way. We can't say that stress 'causes' cancer, but it certainly seems to aggravate it, maybe make people more susceptible to it. It seems to play a role but we haven't figured it all out yet."

It breaks my heart to see Mom so ill.

I want to have a family one day. I want to have a daughter. I don't want to break her heart.

I will be strong. I will face the things I'm afraid of. I will let people help me. And I will emerge, whole and stronger, in the end.

overwhelmed

Sometimes I wonder if I could become a qualified psychiatrist based on personal experience alone.

I'm amazed at how much help I'm being offered. I will soon have a "team" of psychiatrists, all working on different parts of what's wrong with me. It makes me feel...strange...overwhelmed...like this is a dream, I'll wake up and I will go back to being the way I was in January, before Mom was hospitalized and before I fought with Dad and before I made the first step towards talking to someone.

I really didn't think I needed this much support. I feel like I've cried more since January than I've ever let myself cry before. It's mainly been in therapy sessions, but still, I'm not used to letting myself cry. It's like I've buried everything bad that's ever happened to me in a pit deep inside myself, and I finally took a peek at that pit when I started talking to someone in January, and now I'm absolutely overwhelmed by how deep that pit is and how awful the things inside are, and part of me just wants to snap the lid back on and forget about all of that and carry on as if that pit doesn't exist. It's like now, that I've let myself start crying, I'm afraid I'll never be able to stop.

it's more productive...

and you might say it's self-indulgent

and you might say it's self-destructive

but, you see, it's more productive

than if i were to be happy...

-Bad Habit, The Dresden Dolls

I met a new psychiatrist today. Her specialty is mood disorders related to reproductive life cycles, including pre-menstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD). The doctor I see at school said "it's clear to me that your mood is being affected by hormonal and situational triggers, and I think it's important to see someone with a knowledge of the hormonal effects on mood," and so now I have two doctors. One for situational triggers, one for PMDD.

Except we didn't really talk all that much about PMDD today.

This new doctor was incredibly thorough. We talked about everything...being molested when I was 8, feeling like I was never good enough to make Dad happy, the 6-month-long period that had me suicidal by the end of it, the various health problems Mom has had to deal with, the bipolar boyfriend who first triggered my restricting, the way I deal with things now by pretending I'm someone else, the cutting.

And this one said "You definitely have at least some of the symptoms of PTSD." The acronym threw me off for a moment. "What's that?" "Post-traumatic stress disorder."

I wasn't expecting to hear that. I was never involved in a natural disaster. I haven't witnessed a murder. I haven't fought in any wars. I was molested, true, but it wasn't full-out rape. My life hasn't exactly been calm, but I never thought it met the criteria for 'traumatic'.

I'd told her, at the beginning, that I wanted to be able to handle my PMDD symptoms without needing to stay on zoloft forever. And she said that would likely be possible, but that I need to be realistic; that point is at least 3 or 4 years away. There's too much going on right now for me to go off the zoloft. I'm constantly being triggered by my everyday life, and I need to deal with the situational side of things before I can really tackle the hormonal triggers.

And she came up with a long-term plan. I'm getting a referral to start trauma therapy, with both individual and group sessions. And I'll continue seeing her once a month to check on things, and seeing my doctor at school every week. And once I've developed ways of feeling safe, even when I'm in a stressful situation, then I'll work with her more to develop techniques to deal with PMDD.

I'm a little overwhelmed. I really had no idea I was so messed up. I don't let myself feel things. I'm afraid of feeling things.

She also said she'd recommend increasing the zoloft, that studies have shown that trauma patients benefit from the use of medication like zoloft to allow them to cope as they begin to deal with their trauma. She said that might be hard for me, because 'hyperarousal' is a symptom of PTSD, and some patients don't want to give that up because they feel like they're losing their 'edge.'

And that does scare me a little.

I am defined by my edge.

I hate a lot about me. But I love that my body and mind are constantly on alert, ready to do whatever I need to do at a moment's notice. It's exhausting, sure, but I love that I can function perfectly well in extremely stressful situations, on little to no sleep, with little to no support. I work well under pressure, I thrive on stress. I push myself incredibly hard because I know I can get away with it; my mind will still function and my body will still hold me up.

I really think most of what I have accomplished, I have only been able to do because I haven't had a calm life.

Can I be happy and keep my edge? Can I keep the adrenaline that stress gives me without succumbing to the panic attacks that crop up every now and then?

goals.2

Last week's goals:

1. I will not hurt myself. - check. Though that mostly reflects the fact that I had a fairly calm week, not that I'm any better at handling panic. Still, a goal met is a goal met right?
2. I will destroy my midterm tomorrow. - jury's still out on that one. It wasn't what I expected. I'll get it back in class tomorrow...here's hoping...
3. I will spend 28 hours in the lab, being productive and maybe making something cool. - mostly check. I did make something kinda cool, but I still could've been a bit more productive.
4. I will get at least 7 hours of sleep every night. 8 would be better, but I'll start with 7, it's better than my usual. - not quite check. I probably averaged about 6, 6.5. Not awesome but not too bad either.
5. I will not throw up. It might mean I spend an hour at the gym every day and stick mainly to eating vegetables, but I will not throw up. - failed on 3 days. But on the bright side, it's now been 4 days since I last threw up, which is the longest I've lasted for a very, very long time. So it's still progress.
6. I will give myself a pedicure, because I like the number 6 better than 5, and I want something relaxing to look forward to.- fail. This should've been the easiest one to do, but somehow I didn't manage it. I need to take more time for myself, spend more time relaxing.

Goals for this week:

1. I will not hurt myself. This will stay a weekly goal until I find myself in a situation where I really want to hurt myself, but manage not to.
2. I will not throw up. This will stay a weekly goal until I go a solid 3 months without throwing up. So it'll be up here for a looong time. But not forever. That's the important part.
3. I will get at least 7 hours of sleep every night.
4. I will clean the cages of my various pets. It's not a job I look forward to, but I've procrastinated long enough, and this week I will do it. And I'll transplant my seedlings too.
5. I will start working on the presentation I need to do for a class I'm taking. It's not due for another couple of weeks, but if I put in about 5 hours/week starting now, that should make things easier on me later.
6. I will go to yoga class - twice.
7. I will give myself that pedicure. This puts me over 6 goals, and I like 7 less than 6, but I want that pedicure and I need to make time to relax.

i can't say it

Sometimes my boyfriend says "and..." and then pauses. It means he's trying to get me to repeat what he's going to say, one word at a time. One word at a time, because it's usually something I need to hear, especially from myself, but don't want to say, and so he waits patiently as I fight against each word before I'll say it.

Last night, as I was talking about something I was working on, he said, "and..." And he waited.

It was my turn. "and" "it's..." "it's" "okay..." "okay" "if..." "if" "it's..." "it's" "not..." "I'm not going to say it. I can't say that. I can't."

"It's okay if it's not perfect."

"No, I can't say that. I can't."

"It's okay if it's not perfect....because..." "because" "you're..." "you're" "already..." "already" "great." "great."

"There, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?" "No, because it's true, you are great."

"No, that's not what I meant....let's try this again...because..." "because..." "I..." "...I" "am..." "...am" "already..." "...already" "great..." "...great."

"Easier said than done, thinking that." "Well, you didn't even say the whole thing, not really, so that must mean it's really hard to do."

I don't think he really realized just how much I needed to hear that, even if I couldn't say it myself.

jealous of normal

I had an appointment with a dermatologist this morning. It's a routine, once-a-year thing. Mom's side of the family has horrible luck with various types of cancer, so once a year, I get checked over for any signs of cancer - including skin cancer. No bad signs this morning. In fact, he commented on how "great" my skin was, "even colouring, pale, no sun damage." I've given up on tanning once I realized how much cancer runs in family; just seems like a good idea not to tempt fate.

He also noticed the red spots on my face, from the last electrolysis treatment, so we talked about that briefly. He asked if I'd had my blood tested to see if there was a reason for the hair growth, so I told him I was diagnosed with PCOS in November. He was surprised at that - "Well," he said, vaguely gesturing towards my stomach "it's just that you don't fit the usual PCOS case." Meaning that I'm not obese or particularly overweight.

That's the third doctor to have that reaction now. It makes me want to laugh. I have no idea what my natural body shape should be; I haven't eaten normally in years. Take a syndrome that causes weight gain, add an eating disorder, mix it up in the same person, and what do you get? Someone with a body in between. Someone like me.

Speaking of eating disorders...

I've had nothing to eat but cauliflower and carrots today. I'm afraid of eating, because it always seems to end with me throwing up. Sometimes, I think the only way to stop throwing up every day is to stop eating, and this is one of those times. It's simple; nothing in, nothing out. Of all my not-so-healthy tendencies, I hate throwing up most of all. It's the most pointless, self-destructive, embarrassing thing I do. And even knowing that, I can't seem to stop it.

There was once a time when I went years without throwing up, without even having to think about it. Most people live like that. Every day I go without throwing up is a constant fight. I have to plan out my day to avoid triggers, I have to eat certain things, I have to be active, I have to constantly remind myself that I am trying to break this cycle. It's exhausting, and more often than not, I lose the battle at the end of the day anyway. Then I look at the people around me, and I realize that they're doing exactly what I want to be doing - going days without throwing up - with no effort at all. It's frustrating. That's just normal for them, and I'm jealous. I wish it were normal for me too.