Emotions – do I really need them?

At some point in my early development as a human, I deemed it prudent to hide away my emotional self.  I carefully wrapped it up in brown packing paper, taped it up, put it in a box, taped the box shut with packing tape, then taped it again with duct tape (just in case), wrapped it in some newspaper (and more tape) and hid it away behind my pancreas.

Some dust that was touching my emotional self may have filtered out over the years but ultimately, it’s stayed packed tightly away. I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t hidden away and I’m not even sure it’s still alive.

Maybe it’s outdated, like a VHS and it won’t even be compatible with the current version of myself. So, what’s the point of going to all the trouble to unpack a box full of VHS tapes when you don’t have a player for them?

Maybe I need to unpack a bit more because I’m trying to make a new movie and keep tripping over all these boxes in my studio. Or maybe that old footage would be really helpful to look at while I plan the sequel….

Or maybe I should stop this stupid analogy and realize that a smart person on this podcast was right when he said, “I think we just don’t want to face the realization that the pain is as huge as it is and that we were as vulnerable as we were.” Bam. 

 

 

Well, isn’t this fun

What the fuck… I was so depressed the last few months. But when I was in it, I didn’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t have noticed either or maybe you would have… Regardless, I finally took more meds and felt much better.

But it was like a four day rest stop in stability on the way to another shitty place. My therapist says that today sounds like a “mixed episode”. (not to be confused with a ‘mixed drink’, which is something you may enjoy but I cannot.)

So, now I’m feeling like a useless wet towel that people I love have to drag around with them. AND I’m aware of how stupid that is.

Here’s an annotated screenshot of where I’m at today. Fun times.

lyla

I actually have no patience to write anything else. Sorry.

Hugs and Kisses.

xoxo

Lyla

ps. my moon flux is also upon me.

This shit is old news

My days are feeling more normal. My life has a certain flow and predictability. But my mind is still not all there.

The loose connection between my mind and me doesn’t seem to be getting any tighter. This up and down and all around shit is getting old. I feel okay enough. I’m mostly able to take care of many daily tasks. I just want to stop focusing on my mental state and focus on nurturing my family.

Last week my psychiatrist suggested I take part in a Trauma Therapy Program at the hospital (an intensive four days a week/ eight week program) and also that I consider switching my SSRI for a different SSRI (to help with all the “fun” intrusive thoughts). This felt like a blow. Like, after all the hard work I’ve been doing, and all the strides I’ve made, I’m still so unwell that I need a medication overhaul and more intensive therapy? This didn’t feel good at all.

Lists can be fun. (maybe) Here are some reasons why I don’t want to do any of this:

1. I am ready to stop revisiting the past. I want to move forward in my new life.
2. I can’t really wrap my head around the fact that I ever suffered actual trauma. Nobody ever hit me.
3. Switching meds is risky and I could encounter bad side effects, withdrawal and it may not work for me. If the current SSRI is mostly helping and I’m the only one bothered by the thoughts, it would be selfish to put my family through a risky med change just to make myself possibly feel a bit better.
4. This specific program would require taking a two month leave from work. My daily routine is too important to screw with like that. Working keeps me grounded.
5. The medication that she recommends is Prozac and that sounds pretty scary because whenever the news says bad things about anti-depressants, I remember they always name Prozac (even though I know that just means it’s popular).
FINALLY: I think that I am mostly stable, so I want to stop being so selfish and not waste another breathe talking about my thoughts.

It’s true that I’m doing much better than I was. But it’s very frustrating that I’m still not well. I don’t know how to say this in a way that captures the intensity of this frustration. I don’t even know that I can ever expect to feel much better than this.  I’m only 32 years old.

I’m sick of therapy. I’m sick of over-analyzing myself. I’m not that interesting. I’m sick and tired of traipsing around in my crazy mind.

Packing it in.

I'm eating my feelings and they taste delicious

There are no words

How do you describe a flavour that has no taste?

There are no words to describe this heavy pain that I am carrying. It is intangible. It is invisible. It has no flavour, no smell, no colour. Even I cannot see it. But I know that it is there. Sitting heavily on my chest.

Everything seems fine. I seem fine. I feel fine. But then, suddenly, I’m not fine anymore – I’m insane. I’m about to burst, I can’t bear it another moment. And then, just as quickly as it came, I’m fine again.

Insight is an interesting thing. I take some comfort in the memory that it will pass, but there is still fear in the knowledge that it is sure to come back. I can’t quite describe what ‘it’ is right now. It is not the overt tears and overwhelming emotions that it used to be.

Now it is just a very quiet, subtle death that happens inside me sometimes while I go about my day in my very lovely life. Like I’ve just died and no one can see and I don’t want to let them know because it will only cause them pain. And I know that no good will come from bothering them with this temporary death. So I’ll just try to smile. or not. But either way, I’ll just keep moving forward, doing the things I’m supposed to be doing.

And I will remind myself that it is helping them- my facade. My presence here, looking okay, acting like I’m not in so much pain, it’s good for them. It’s what they need – to believe I’m okay, even if they sort of know I’m not. And it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do anyway. If I’m just sticking around for their benefit, I may as well make them feel good about it. As much as I can.

This just hurts so much. I can’t measure it. I can’t express it. I can’t even cry. (The tears just won’t come.)

What more is there really to say?

My life is great. I have everything I could ever ask for. And I am numb to it all. fin.

drawing of a woman with a colourful beam shooting onto her back.

There is no more running away

I pedaled quickly
The crisp autumn wind on my face
The wet leaves falling to the ground like a gentle rain
Creating a carpet of yellow petals under my thin tires
I tried to see the beauty
But I couldn’t catch my breath.
I couldn’t get away.

Once, I pedaled to my freedom
I pedaled away from the pain
Away from the witch that hounded me, away from the prison walls.
But now I can’t get away.
I will never be able to get away.

I can’t outrun the demons that haunt me now –
I can’t outrun them,

Because they have no legs;
The demons are in my head.
They are here to stay.

On my bike,
In my life,
I am alone with them.
There is no more running away.

We stopped checking for monsters under our bed when we realized they were inside of us.