Between planning a mutiny in therapy, and threatening abandonment of both my body and whoever or whatever manufactures hypochondria and/ or illness, it's been a bad night. When I finally felt my body shut up its stupid whining, I felt a little guilty and asked Jenny to tell me what was going on. Jenny is the body connection. I think she serves as a connection to other things, too, but that's a whole other blog post. Anyway, Jenny can't talk. She communicates with songs (among other things - whole other blog post). When I ask her a question, she drops a song into my head. So... I did it - I asked her. "So... Jenny, what's going on. What say you?" The bit that dropped into my head was, "I think we're alone now, the beating of our heart is the only sound." So what does this mean? I had already successfully abandoned my body? Of course, I did what Jenny expects me to do, and I located the video and the lyrics. I posted the lyrics after the video. The words made me cry right away. Not really, though. I mean - sure, water came out of my eyes for a minute, and for a split second it was a good thing that I was not standing on top of a tall building, but outside of that - I didn't feel too much. Now I just want the song to shut up. I'm thinking I should go to bed soon. That's hard when I am alternating between leaky eyeballs and the urge to grab my ball bat and start smashing the hell out of things. I have no idea what's going on, but I don't think I can keep my therapy appointment for Wednesday. I am NOT a happy fucking camper and there's no telling what could happen. I don't like that. It doesn't seem smart or safe to me. It just doesn't.
written by Ritchie Cordell
Originally recorded by Tommy James and the Shondelles (1967)
Also recorded by Tiffany (1986)
Children behave,
That's what they say when we're together,
And watch how you play,
They don't understand,
And so we're,
Running just as fast as we can,
Holdin' onto one another's hand,
Tryin' to get away into the night,
And then you put your arms around me,
And we tumble to the ground,
And then you say,
I think we're alone now,
There doesn't seem to be anyone around.
I think we're alone now,
The beating of our hearts is the only sound.
Look at the way,
We gotta hide what we're doin'.
'Cause what would they say,
If they ever knew and so we're,
Running just as fast as we can,
Holdin' onto one another's hand,
Tryin' to get away into the night,
And then you put your arms around me,
And we tumble to the ground,
And then you say,
I think we're alone now,
There doesn't seem to be anyone around.
I think we're alone now,
The beating of our hearts is the only sound.
I think we're alone now,
There doesn't seem to be anyone around.
I think we're alone now,
The beating of our hearts is the only sound.
Running just as fast as we can,
Holdin' onto one another's hand,
Tryin' to get away into the night,
And then you put your arms around me,
And we tumble to the ground,
And then you say,
I think we're alone now,
There doesn't seem to be anyone around.
I think we're alone now,
The beating of our hearts is the only sound.
I think we're alone now,
There doesn't seem to be anyone around.
I think we're alone now,
The beating of our hearts is the only sound.
I think we're alone now, (alone now)
There doesn't seem to be anyone around.
I think we're alone now,(alone now)
The beating of our hearts is the only sound.
I think we're alone now,(alone now)
There doesn't seem to be anyone around.
I think we're alone now,(alone now)
The beating of our hearts is the only sound.
I think we're alone now,(alone now)...
Lyrics from: www.lyricsworld.com
Showing posts with label Blogger's remorse will soon be mine.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blogger's remorse will soon be mine.. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
I already posted this letter once, now lets see if I can keep from deleting it again.
I was getting pretty depressed and now I have been running like crazy to 'get things done'. Yeah, man. I got A LOT done. And I have more to do Monday. I've been running. Now I will have it here on my blog and I will know more about what I've been running from when I hit the wall. And so will all of you. Until then...
(Dear Dream Mother,)
Okay, I can write the dream now. I fell asleep on the couch and dreamed that I was in my parents' living room. My father came home. I was confused about why he wasn't dead. I found out that he had never died and had been alive all along. This scared and confused me and filled me with dread. I was afraid of him, but I was also afraid about the fact that I had thought him dead when he had really been alive. I thought I was losing my mind again. How could I have not known that I had been living with my father for years unless I was insane? To make things more confusing, I realized I felt love for my father. On the other hand, I was also afraid of him. I was just plain afraid. I started to have a panic attack in my sleep. I thought of you and wondered if you knew that he was alive. I thought perhaps I had 'sometimes known' and had spoken to you about it during times that were no longer available to my consciousness. And if not, I imagined how hard it would be to explain to you that I had been living in a delusion for so many years after 'imagining' his death. I tried to look at my father and figure out whether or not I could trust him to be safe. I didn't know what to do and I was even more afraid. I went to find my mother in the dream. She was sleeping, so I woke her up. I could barely talk because I was so afraid. She was nice to me and not hideous (that's how I know she was you). I don't remember what all I said, but I whined out some thin little words to explain. I don't think I explained very clearly, but she did know that I was terrified and that it was because of my father. She was nice about it, but all she did was say something to the effect that she was sure everything was somehow okay. Then she went back to sleep. It wasn't okay. I was in the crying place. It leaked out into reality and sort of woke me up a little bit for a minute. The crying was real. I tried to be all the way awake and not asleep. That trapped me for a minute in one of those night terror thingies. But I was too exhausted to fight and I went back into regular sleep and the dream. My father was still there and I was trapped with him. I had to convince myself that he was okay and not anyone to be afraid of. I told myself that I must have made up wrong things about him. I told myself that he was nice and would be good to me and that it was good that he was alive. I decided that I had been wrong about him the same way that I had been wrong about his death and that it was okay for us to just pick up where we left off. So we went out for coffee. Then suddenly, instead of having coffee with him, I was working as a waitress in the coffee shop and I was waiting on him. He was the only customer at first, but he was very demanding. Then other customers started coming. I was trying to hurry with my father's coffee, but I needed to find a coffee cup. I went to go look for them. I saw two shelves. The top one was labeled "tea cups" and the bottom one was labeled "coffee cups". The bottom one was empty, and I knew my father would disapprove of me bringing his coffee in a "tea cup" from the top shelf. The "tea cups" were not really tea cups. They were shaped funny and they were larger than what I knew the "coffee cups" would be had there been any left on the shelf. (I think I know what the shape of the cups represented and it makes me want to puke.) I became overwhelmed and customers were waiting. The manager came to get me. She could see that I wasn't able to do the job I had been given, so she brought some others to replace me. I thought she was going to fire me, but she said she just wanted me to take a job in the back with the paperwork instead. I wondered if my father would miss me, but I didn't think he would as long as someone brought the coffee. At first I was a little sad about that, but quickly realized that the paperwork job was a promotion. Then I woke up. (Husband) and (youngest daughter) were there looking at me. They said I had been mumbling and moaning and whining while I slept.
I'm not okay and I'm afraid to go to sleep.
(Dear Dream Mother,)
Okay, I can write the dream now. I fell asleep on the couch and dreamed that I was in my parents' living room. My father came home. I was confused about why he wasn't dead. I found out that he had never died and had been alive all along. This scared and confused me and filled me with dread. I was afraid of him, but I was also afraid about the fact that I had thought him dead when he had really been alive. I thought I was losing my mind again. How could I have not known that I had been living with my father for years unless I was insane? To make things more confusing, I realized I felt love for my father. On the other hand, I was also afraid of him. I was just plain afraid. I started to have a panic attack in my sleep. I thought of you and wondered if you knew that he was alive. I thought perhaps I had 'sometimes known' and had spoken to you about it during times that were no longer available to my consciousness. And if not, I imagined how hard it would be to explain to you that I had been living in a delusion for so many years after 'imagining' his death. I tried to look at my father and figure out whether or not I could trust him to be safe. I didn't know what to do and I was even more afraid. I went to find my mother in the dream. She was sleeping, so I woke her up. I could barely talk because I was so afraid. She was nice to me and not hideous (that's how I know she was you). I don't remember what all I said, but I whined out some thin little words to explain. I don't think I explained very clearly, but she did know that I was terrified and that it was because of my father. She was nice about it, but all she did was say something to the effect that she was sure everything was somehow okay. Then she went back to sleep. It wasn't okay. I was in the crying place. It leaked out into reality and sort of woke me up a little bit for a minute. The crying was real. I tried to be all the way awake and not asleep. That trapped me for a minute in one of those night terror thingies. But I was too exhausted to fight and I went back into regular sleep and the dream. My father was still there and I was trapped with him. I had to convince myself that he was okay and not anyone to be afraid of. I told myself that I must have made up wrong things about him. I told myself that he was nice and would be good to me and that it was good that he was alive. I decided that I had been wrong about him the same way that I had been wrong about his death and that it was okay for us to just pick up where we left off. So we went out for coffee. Then suddenly, instead of having coffee with him, I was working as a waitress in the coffee shop and I was waiting on him. He was the only customer at first, but he was very demanding. Then other customers started coming. I was trying to hurry with my father's coffee, but I needed to find a coffee cup. I went to go look for them. I saw two shelves. The top one was labeled "tea cups" and the bottom one was labeled "coffee cups". The bottom one was empty, and I knew my father would disapprove of me bringing his coffee in a "tea cup" from the top shelf. The "tea cups" were not really tea cups. They were shaped funny and they were larger than what I knew the "coffee cups" would be had there been any left on the shelf. (I think I know what the shape of the cups represented and it makes me want to puke.) I became overwhelmed and customers were waiting. The manager came to get me. She could see that I wasn't able to do the job I had been given, so she brought some others to replace me. I thought she was going to fire me, but she said she just wanted me to take a job in the back with the paperwork instead. I wondered if my father would miss me, but I didn't think he would as long as someone brought the coffee. At first I was a little sad about that, but quickly realized that the paperwork job was a promotion. Then I woke up. (Husband) and (youngest daughter) were there looking at me. They said I had been mumbling and moaning and whining while I slept.
I'm not okay and I'm afraid to go to sleep.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
A Post to Answer Comments from the Previous Post
Actual post time - 6 AM Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I appreciate all the comments about how it is just too embarrassing to talk to a therapist about sexual things. I couldn't agree more. I've never been able to do it, either. This time, I took a chance, but it wasn't when I called him during the meltdown. All I could do then was cry and tell him how very afraid I was. I told him I was afraid of the nightmare. Very, very afraid, yet so tired and needing sleep. Now I am only getting by because I'm alternating between dissociation and a beer buzz. I'm not complaining too loudly, though. It's not the healthiest way to cope, but it's what I have at the moment. It allowed me to bank the gross receipts, pay my bills, clean up around here, and get a very respectable start on the mountain of laundry that piled up while I was down. Still, this is not a long term plan. I have to DO something. I decided that it might be wise to take a chance and let the therapist in. I let him right in to the real middle of the mess. I had to stare down Rambo to get him onboard. He is the protector, so he saw the misery and the danger in not having help and he protected by standing down. He was very encouraged by the therapist's reaction to the emergency, so he's with me. Anyway, here's how I did it and I'll let you know how it turns out. I told it in this email:
Thank you for not leaving me. I was able to put together a little bit of peace and get myself together somewhat. I've still been bothered by bad mental images, though. The same images have stalked me from time to time since I was about ten and I know that the really bad nightmare I had was about that. Those things come from the same place. They are the same thing. I thought I could handle the actual material by myself, but something happened tonight that makes me think it might be smarter to say something to you about this stuff. I didn't want to because it is very, very embarrassing and I can only write it to you. I don't think I could actually tell you out loud, so thank you in advance for not being one of those stodgy types who doesn't do computers.
That nightmare was very deeply disturbing. I could not see the face of the bad person in the dream, but he made me think of my husband. Their personal areas looked nothing alike, but I thought of him because of what the man was doing. I have a problem that no one knows about (except for my husband). It is a sexual problem in that intercourse is difficult and sometimes not physically possible because... I think it is because I'm afraid even when I don't know I'm afraid, even when I think I am relaxed, so my body tries to protect me by not letting it happen. There is something that helps with this situation, and that is what the bad person in the dream was doing to me. But that person was rough and mean and frightening. Then in the days that passed after the nightmare, I became very sick and upset because of the images and also from thinking that the only way I am able to have sex with my husband is to first repeat something horrible that someone did to me. I got sick and tired of being tortured by that nightmare and the sickening thoughts and fears that came with it, so I decided to do something about it. I had sex with my husband because I needed to know the difference between things with him and the horror of the nightmare and the images. I got my answer. The difference is my husband is a gentle person who loves and respects me and he would never, ever hurt me like that. It's not the same thing as the bad images because my husband is not willing to hurt me to make it possible to have sex. The bad person was and did. It helps me to know the difference.
This would be a happy ending, but it wasn't the ending. Something happened between the time that I became able to have intercourse and actually doing it. All I did was lie next to him for a minute and hug his arm and it happened. Things suddenly got all changed around for me and I felt very different. Small. I felt very small. And I just wanted to hug the arm of the person who has sex with me without hurting me so much. Well, there was no way in hell I was going to have intercourse feeling like that. I was able to get out of it without frustrating him or hurting his feelings, because I spaced out, but the shower spaced me out more and the kitchen smelled like the grandparents' kitchen and I almost threw up. The majority of me was right here and struggling to stay, but I sensed the stragglers. I had a brief flash of something and then I went numb. I can't remember what it was anymore. Since 'magic' usually comes back to bite me on the ass, I figured I had better tell you exactly what is going on in case I am not with the program by Wednesday.
I appreciate all the comments about how it is just too embarrassing to talk to a therapist about sexual things. I couldn't agree more. I've never been able to do it, either. This time, I took a chance, but it wasn't when I called him during the meltdown. All I could do then was cry and tell him how very afraid I was. I told him I was afraid of the nightmare. Very, very afraid, yet so tired and needing sleep. Now I am only getting by because I'm alternating between dissociation and a beer buzz. I'm not complaining too loudly, though. It's not the healthiest way to cope, but it's what I have at the moment. It allowed me to bank the gross receipts, pay my bills, clean up around here, and get a very respectable start on the mountain of laundry that piled up while I was down. Still, this is not a long term plan. I have to DO something. I decided that it might be wise to take a chance and let the therapist in. I let him right in to the real middle of the mess. I had to stare down Rambo to get him onboard. He is the protector, so he saw the misery and the danger in not having help and he protected by standing down. He was very encouraged by the therapist's reaction to the emergency, so he's with me. Anyway, here's how I did it and I'll let you know how it turns out. I told it in this email:
Thank you for not leaving me. I was able to put together a little bit of peace and get myself together somewhat. I've still been bothered by bad mental images, though. The same images have stalked me from time to time since I was about ten and I know that the really bad nightmare I had was about that. Those things come from the same place. They are the same thing. I thought I could handle the actual material by myself, but something happened tonight that makes me think it might be smarter to say something to you about this stuff. I didn't want to because it is very, very embarrassing and I can only write it to you. I don't think I could actually tell you out loud, so thank you in advance for not being one of those stodgy types who doesn't do computers.
That nightmare was very deeply disturbing. I could not see the face of the bad person in the dream, but he made me think of my husband. Their personal areas looked nothing alike, but I thought of him because of what the man was doing. I have a problem that no one knows about (except for my husband). It is a sexual problem in that intercourse is difficult and sometimes not physically possible because... I think it is because I'm afraid even when I don't know I'm afraid, even when I think I am relaxed, so my body tries to protect me by not letting it happen. There is something that helps with this situation, and that is what the bad person in the dream was doing to me. But that person was rough and mean and frightening. Then in the days that passed after the nightmare, I became very sick and upset because of the images and also from thinking that the only way I am able to have sex with my husband is to first repeat something horrible that someone did to me. I got sick and tired of being tortured by that nightmare and the sickening thoughts and fears that came with it, so I decided to do something about it. I had sex with my husband because I needed to know the difference between things with him and the horror of the nightmare and the images. I got my answer. The difference is my husband is a gentle person who loves and respects me and he would never, ever hurt me like that. It's not the same thing as the bad images because my husband is not willing to hurt me to make it possible to have sex. The bad person was and did. It helps me to know the difference.
This would be a happy ending, but it wasn't the ending. Something happened between the time that I became able to have intercourse and actually doing it. All I did was lie next to him for a minute and hug his arm and it happened. Things suddenly got all changed around for me and I felt very different. Small. I felt very small. And I just wanted to hug the arm of the person who has sex with me without hurting me so much. Well, there was no way in hell I was going to have intercourse feeling like that. I was able to get out of it without frustrating him or hurting his feelings, because I spaced out, but the shower spaced me out more and the kitchen smelled like the grandparents' kitchen and I almost threw up. The majority of me was right here and struggling to stay, but I sensed the stragglers. I had a brief flash of something and then I went numb. I can't remember what it was anymore. Since 'magic' usually comes back to bite me on the ass, I figured I had better tell you exactly what is going on in case I am not with the program by Wednesday.
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