"Also, do you ever feel like you are the only one that has the problems you do and that no one in the world can understand what you go through? Although intellectually I understand this to be false – I know other people experience many of the same things I do – it still doesn’t feel that way sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I’m living on my own little remote island, and sending messages to the mainland using Morse code, or something like that. Connected to the world in some minuscule way, but not really."
Out of the blue
Now we’re afraid. Afraid to call our shrink, lest she admit us to the psych ward. We’re afraid to talk to our family. We’re afraid to talk to our friends. We are just afraid of it all at this point. Life.
Life. Is. Scary.
Husband says that we told him we wanted to die. He said we begged him to kill us. We screamed, “Just shoot us in the fucking head!” and collapsed onto the bed in a crumpled mess of tears and mucus and blood from where we’d scratched ourselves. This is the first time that I can remember us voicing suicidal thoughts since our last severe breakdown, which occurred after our father died, years ago.
This wasn’t the first time we’d had suicidal thoughts; it was just the first time we’d spoken of them aloud to anyone other than our shrink.
That can’t be good.
ear Mom;
If you read my blog as the daughter YOU were, instead of as the mother you ARE, can you honestly tell me that you would not completely relate to what I am saying? If I wasn’t YOUR daughter, (if I was your next door neighbor), I know you would be a fan.
I’ve decided to password protect most of our posts. If you would like to have the password you can comment to this post here with your Email address and we will be sure to get you the password. I will make sure your Email will not be posted for others to see.
Thanks for all the support!
Thankfully, I no longer feel like I am teetering. Yay! Potential contributors to the wobble were as follows:
A month or so ago (?), I said to myself/my brain, “Look, I want to remember. I want to process this stuff and move on with my life.” I asked whatever part of me is blocking to step aside.
I have already written about this, but I expected something like movie reel memories. I knew they would be difficult, but I guess I thought it would be sort of like watching them on a screen. There would be feelings involved, of course (ew, yuck, not FEEEEEEEEELINGS), and they would be painful, but hey, at least I’d know what was going on. I’d have my neat, tidy memories and I’d figure out how to unwrap them, process them, and then let them go.
Oh, how naive!