It's a good thing I'm not superstitious.

OK. It's back on with the therapist. The next appointment is little more than a week away, so I am hoping he will 'stay' in here. It is especially helpful that we settled our problem. I think this lessens the chance that he might be offloaded in his absence. It's good to know that he is able to man up to mistakes if he makes them. It's also nice to know that it was a mistake on his part and not meant to be discounting or disrespectful of my situation. It should be fine as long as I don't run into the "what if something bad happens to him while he's gone" thing. I hate that one. Anyway, as messy as these things are, they are proof of improvement. It wasn't too long ago that I would have totally dissociated the whole incident and then spent the next few weeks trying to survive a nearly constant panic attack without being able to understand how it got going in the first place. It's another sign of improvement that I was able to stand up for myself even in the aftermath of a terrible and grotesque flashback.

The first day of the new year has been shit for me. There are those who place great emphasis on the tone of the day on January 1st, believing it sets the tone for the year to come. Lucky for me, I'm aware that such thinking is pure baloney. As I recently told my therapist when he asked me how I feel about New Year's day - "Any day can begin a new year, so the new year begins when I say it does." So, the concept of New Year/ January 1st and the therapy dilemma aside, how was my day? Shitty. It was shitty.

I told my mother she could stop by at 2:00. When she came over on Christmas Eve to leave gifts for the children, my husband did not give her the gift we had for her. I was not about to be sucked into going to her house (where I feel held captive), so I told her she could stop by to pick up the gift. I do not buddy up with my mother. We have very little contact because it's best for me this way. Though she was nothing like my father, she did her own damages that she prefers to overlook and thus she has not changed enough to be a healthy contact for me. Even so, it causes her an enormous amount of distress to be completely and totally ignored on Christmas and I don't like to be cruel when I can help it. So there was that. I knew my mother was coming over. Plus, I had just quit therapy via email. How much of each one was responsible for what happened Thursday morning, I don't know. There may even have been other factors at work that I am not consciously aware of. I do have a guess, though. I have been attacked by PTSD stuff before when I felt separated from my therapist (because he has become the 'real' mother). My guess is that my mother's absence was very dangerous for me as a child. Can I be really specific? Well... my memory for childhood is a little bit fucked in some areas. I can tell you that she worked nights when I was small. And now I can't sleep until morning. Etc... Etc... Etc... It's complicated.

Thursday morning I had a nightmare/ flashback/ night terror. I'm not quite sure precisely how to label it. It was bizarre, so I'll just describe it. I drifted off to sleep. I had pain. I dreamed. I was reliving something. It seemed to be an act of sodomy in my grandparents' living room. I remember seeing the room and seeing various objects and going, "I remember that (lamp, chair, or whatever)." It felt like instant recognition of some long lost information. The pattern of a certain chair is the only one of those things I recall with crystal clarity now. Then there was a LOT of pain. I think whatever happened to me happened in that chair. I 'sort of' woke up a little bit. I was trying to drag myself from the nightmare, but I was only partially successful. I remember it was like having more than one reality going at the same time. I was dimly aware that I was actually in my bed while I was having this terrible pain, but the nightmare in the living room was still there. I could still see it. Yet I mostly, sort of, knew where I really was. I know I was screaming. Screaming. The part of my mind that knew present reality wanted my husband to come and help me. A couple of times, I thought he had come into the room to try to wake me, but in reality he was out on the couch sleeping like a baby. Then something worse happened. I thought my youngest daughter (who looks just like me) came into my bedroom. (She didn't come in. It wasn't real.) I was horrified. That was no situation for a child. I told her to go, but she wouldn't. She insisted on staying with me. She was trying to cuddle up to my body for comfort. I was yelling for my husband to come and get her. I thought she had gone, but I could hear her and feel her moving around on the pillow cases above my head. The pain was terrible and I couldn't seem to do anything to make it stop. The whole thing was horrifying. When I was finally able to pull out of it, I was very angry. I remember saying to 'whatever', "Go away! Don't you dare show me that unless you show me what it really was. Don't you dare show me that unless you show me WHO. I want to know WHO!" Then all kinds of scary and creepy thoughts bombarded me. Thoughts like, "Nothing happened to you. You should see a doctor. Diseases cause pain. It's a disease." "Nothing happened. You're making it up, blah, blah, blah..." I knew this to be the voice of my family's denial and their condemnation of me and of the truth, so of course I told that stuff to fuck off. I hardly got any rest and then I had to get up because the mother was coming over. The only good thing was that my husband and kids slept right through the whole thing. I can't tell you how relieved I am about that part.

This is my problem with sleep. It's a big problem. I'm hoping I'll be alright. To top things, there has been a nasty cold going around this house. Now I have it, too. I guess missing that night of sleep is gonna cost me.

And that's the way it is, this 1st of January, 2009. The good news is, the new year hasn't really started yet for me. My new year begins when I say it does, remember?
:-)