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It has been quite awhile since I posted. Not sure what to say. One step forward, ninety steps back.

Life is so completely ridiculous.

I have decided to literally stop everything. Why am I trying to fix this? Yes - I said 'trying' because I am not successfully fixing anything. The more I dig, the more I try, the bigger the mess gets. The more happy I get, the more miserable my home environment becomes. I try to take care of myself by taking down time and I am a 'bad' person if it affects others expectations. I have no rights to being a genuine me. I am cursed to being what is expected. I am to be a stepford wife. Not allowed to grow old, not allowed to be cracked or let emotions come through in my voice... not allowed to be tired or say that I hurt. I must push-push-push. Must be smiling and happy. Must let my cat be threatened, bullied and chased around like a frightened mouse. Must let my adult children be eviserated verbally and then banned from my home. I must forgive with a big smile and lots of hugs, reaffirm my oodles of love for this man who berates, curses and manipulates me when I speak up and communicate my conflicting thoughts and views. When I reach out for something good - if it is not about him, he permits it, but soon resents it with seething jealousy. He must be the 'allspark' center of my world to feel like he is loved.

I have just decided to stop trying to be anything but what I have to be to get through this life. It may be miserable, but at least I am 'loved'. Ironically the good book says "True love leaves fear outside..." 1 John 4:18. Is this really love if I am constantly in fear of being ostracized or abandoned because of my imperfections? I must be crazy because that is the only kind of love I have ever known from a man.

 

Trying to stay positive. Trying being the operative word here.

The inner critic got some very useful information last night. I guess this whole honest communication thing is a risk. Now I have to figure out how to keep the info from being used to sabotage my efforts to be better in my relationship with both my husband and myself. It would be easy to plant it in a landmine and just wait for my husband to step on it, but that was the old way. I will see if I can wrestle it away while the inner critic is busy with another demeaning project.

Change is hard.

 

Pretty much sums it up right now. I have had a rough day. Lots of work and household duties. Tired. A bit under the weather... But overall, other than my kitten spazzing out all over the house, things are pretty low key.  She is really going nuts. I wish you all could see this!!

Made some changes and some progress the last few days. My T is still taking my assessment...  halfway through and I got flushed and shaky. Next Tuesday we should finish it up. Hopefully.
She is trained in EMDR -- has anyone done that? What is it like? I am a little curious and need to look it up. So tired. Good night for now.

sanmagic7: If I had to give a color to the inner critic, I would say Brilliant Shining Yellow. (Really? That was unexpected.)

My inner critic, when planted gave the dangerous illusion of being helpful, sunny, bright and perfect in its intentions (thus perfect in its expectations). It was to brightly expose the weaknesses in me and light the way to become a better person. It seemed to be under the impression that its the voice of what it takes to be without fault... and wholly good. But it blinds, overwhelms and washes out all uniqueness, fading detail, and over time making many things brittle, easily broken or hard and inflexible. This relentless critic is merciless in its pursuit of making all it touches into works of vain perfection, but if left unchecked, makes shells of the subjects that are constantly subject to its voice and thoughts...

As bhupendra says -- if I allow my inner critic to reign unchecked, I will soon become him. A prospect that will cost me dearly and will literally be the end of 'me'. -- Thank you for your insight.

Love never fails to help. I choose love and kindness... patience and consistent hope... Magic does happen. I have seen it. No forced or professed perfection exists where it is.
The inner critic has no presence there. I MUST keep reminding myself of that.

[(Possible trigger warning on number 3)]

So. I have been taking a fresh look at things. My sister, who never understood me at all, said to me once that I needed to take off my rose-colored glasses. Turns out I don't have any and never did. Things have often colored my view of the people in my life, but none of them rose-colored.

Examples: (Possible trigger warning on number 3)

1) GREY -- It all began with the belief that I was nothing important and was always in the way...  It gave me the idea to turn the lights down and walk about in a dim place. Quiet and unobtrusive, furtively darting from shadow to shadow, careful not to tread too heavily or trample anything in my efforts to remain unnoticed. Grey shrouded everything. I only remember small pieces of color. My grandfather sitting quietly on his beautifully painted, shiny green glider-- me, peacefully leaning into his side, safe and secure while the orange end of his cigarette danced to and from his lips slowly and thoughtfully. Silently the breeze brushed my cheeks as we whooshed through the evening air listening to the night fall around us. Until the back door opened and broke the spell. Stark light fell across the porch erasing all color, as a voice clipped and businesslike stated matter of factly, "we are leaving. GET IN THE CAR." Poof. It was gone. Grey was everywhere. The car ride home was silent as well... gazing through the window up at the stars as the power lines danced up and down from pole to pole. The seat was always cold. The silence broken only by the tension crackling in the air.

2) School was stark white. Blinding lights everywhere. Noise everywhere. Confusion, the grating din of ridiculous laughter like branches scratching on a tin washtub. Books and new crayons my dearest silent companions. Rows of desks. Rows of faces. You mustn't ever miss the bus. You must always listen and I expect no bad marks on your report card. Children staring. My face is burning. They can see me. Too much light. I must disappear into the paper. I can draw and write myself away into the paper where no one will ever find me. I can write my own story there. It will be safe there. Only the pencils and crayons know where I am and they can't speak and they always understand me.

3) Light GREEN -- The attic room. Green is all I can see. Horrible pale mint green, a white hospital bed metal, bouncy and springy... then try to wiggle away... then fear. Pale green is all I can see. This tiny room must be a dungeon like in my stories of princesses and dragons. There is no prince, only monsters. Grey is better than this horrible green. I like grey, it's safer there.

4) Red -- embarrassment. Freak. Red blotchy blobs of ugly scales on my face, in my hair, all over my misshapen hormone wracked body. The one breast that grows is covered in lesions. Desperately I try to flatten it or hide it. Why isn't the other one growing? Soaking in stinky tar salve on  my head all night to keep my scalp from coming off in dry ugly dragon scales. Doctors poking and prodding, burning yeast infections and a constant fire in my stomach. Red -- everywhere. Can't hide. No where to run. Girls in the locker room stare, laugh and point. Change in the bathroom stall. Hide out until the redemption of the bell. Then duck behind the comforting stack of books in my arms and run to the art room where I can find my silent friends again. The only ones who don't laugh at me or think me a disappointment. Will the red ever fade?? As I donned the red graduation gown...  with the ending of school days, the red began to fade.

More colors to come... still no rose. Enough history for now.

I took a chance and told my therapist that I always come across as well-composed and put together. It is deceiving and a protection for me because it keeps me safe from uncomfortable things. I learned to be invisible without disappearing. I hide behind a collected mask. I hope that I did the right thing.

[so]

 So I went to my first actual therapy appointment today with my new therapist. The one last week was a clinic appointment just to get established as a clinic patient. The best way I can describe her was that she is very 'zen' and very intuitive. She pays close attention, but knows how to do so without making you feel like a goldfish in a bowl.

So, I am hopeful. I have a prescription for an antihistamine that I take at night to help me sleep and sedate me so I can relax. My husband is back now  and we are both trying very hard to make things better for both of us. I am SO glad to have him back home. It just didn't feel like a home without him here. My kids tried to help ease things, but no one can fill the hole when he is gone. He is my closest friend and so much more. I haven't been on the web much except for working this week or last. Just tired and worn down I suppose. Also didn't feel much like talking.

Really weary tonight... but feeling very hopeful. Good night.

I love the cuddly comfort in this one. It's almost like he is self-soothing.

    Thanks guys. I posted for your enjoyment -- but also so you can 'see' me through my art. It is literally the only part of me that I like. The rest feels like it is just kind of... well. You know.

It's interesting how I seem to feel that somehow through creating art I seek to find a 'beauty' that can be found within myself. I gave up trying to 'see' beauty in my appearance years ago and
I can't seem to find it in any other part of me. It is almost like I only feel I am worth something because I can create a sort of beauty and bring it to others -- for them to enjoy.

Does that make sense on any level?

Welcome little boat - I like your name too. Makes me think of a tug boat in a harbor, helping everyone around them getting to where they need to be, cheerily and willingly. Persistent. Not afraid to tackle the big things. It's a very positive name.

I can see why you are a poet.

Hi Little Boat -- Thank you for your kind words. I also write poetry/prose as well, but it has been a long time since I had the desire to do so. There is one piece written a few years ago I particularly love that expresses so much about CPTSD... before I even knew I had it. I may post it sometime -- when I am ready to share. To me it is so much more revealing than my art.

Painting with words is a gift, but it so starkly exposes one's soul at times... I would love to see some of your poetry, will you be posting any?

Seeking Solace

I too am seeing a new therapist today. There have been many over the years. Some helped, some NOT at all. Your comment about the half opened can of worms is absolutely perfect to express how it feels. Thanks for putting into words what I cannot.

I am nervous and anxious... there is so much riding on this. My H left nearly two weeks ago and has asked me to get help and support so we can try to work through this CPTSD and BPD malestrom.  He has BPD -- I have CPTSD. The fact that he is still talking to me is a miracle in of itself. He has been going to therapy off and on for awhile, but only one of us can go at a time. Can't afford the whopping bills with no insurance.

For what it's worth, hope you find what you need. I have read through parts of your journal and my heart goes out to you... please don't give up. So many people have let you down in life, you can't afford to let yourself down by giving up on finding the right support. Coming here was definitely a step in the right direction. I will be checking in and will make myself available too for you -- maybe we can awkwardly cheer each other on.  ...now the awkward part...

So Tuesday is finally here. The full impact of what I am about to tackle is right in front of me. It's like how I would imagine a soldier would feel looking down over the field watching his opposing force gather and ready themselves for a siege or battle. It's a bit daunting... to say the least. Especially because I feel the defense mechanisms in me gearing up for an emotional shut down -- making sure I come across as a cool, collected specimen who has her life in order. But has this 'small pesky problem'...    Really?

  smokescreen.

None of that.
It feels more like this... 
My life is falling apart and it's not funny.

I really hate what I am... inside and outside... it's easy for me to talk about that part. I have talked about that many times. But it never helps. All it does is stir up old wounds and cause pain without any benefit? What will be different this time? Will it be different? How do I go about making it different? Mere determination isn't enough. I have to be sure it works this time - my G is counting on me. But what if I am a curse to the men in my life? My first husband said I was the reason he was a failure -- and he meant it fervently. What if I am going to destroy the very one I love so much by drowning him in my uncertainties and insecurities? Or beating him down with my EF's exaggerated sense of justice or the huge pool of criticisms from my critic's overactivity?
There are so many things lurking along the way. This journey is fraught with dangers -- most of them from within. Repressed memories, pain untapped, anger-rage-wrath at those who have contributed to this self-loathing that has become my core... rage at myself for being weak and so vulnerable. 

I literally hate mirrors. I think they should be outlawed. Like Captain Hook and his clocks, I would smash every one of them in my world. They have no place in my life. AT ALL. I can wash my face, brush my teeth, dry my hair and get dressed WITHOUT looking at my reflection. I HATE my body. Did you ever think that hate is just not a strong enough word? Yet, my husband wants to see it. How does that happen? It's so hard to do that. I hide it most of the time.

I used to be proud of my artwork, now all I can do is compare it to others and find the reasons why I am not good enough. But I can't stop drawing because it is the ONLY thing I ever fought to keep doing for myself. I stopped once for 15 years or so. I got lost.

These ramblings make little sense, but it is what it is. A journal, right? Oh well. I shall make myself some coffee... and try to leave my mask at home today.

YES! Tea-the-artist... you nailed it. I always wondered why my anger is like a flash in a pan. I can literally just walk out of a room and walk back in and it has vanished.

I cry when It gets really bad, and I might go for a walk and vent (quietly) into the air where no one can hear me so I don't let them know or see that I have anger. It feels so wrong to have anger or to express it in direct ways. The worst I have done is throw pillows at the floor or slam a door.  I know that's not normal. Pillows are harmless and they don't deserve it! LOL

This is an oldie, but goodie... still among my favorite positive and hopeful art pieces.