I came to day treatment
because I could not stand the pain. And someone asked me…what is the pain. I’ve
been floundering the last two days trying to figure this out. I walked out of
this hospital almost exactly eighteen months ago, April 13th, 2004.
When I walked out of the hospital I knew who I was, I liked who I was and I was
healing. Then I left therapy for good in May of 2005. The best counselor and I
decided that I was well, I could do it on my own. Again…I was the most well I
have ever been in my entire life. Life was simply freakin’ awesome. I felt good
with therapy being done, and on the right meds. I even had a boyfriend.
Now here I am, sitting before all of you. Something went very wrong. Suicidal
thoughts once again entered my brain and I have been unable to get rid of them.
I self harmed…the very thing I teach other people not to do. I did it to help
the violent thoughts. Tonight I self harmed again. It was a goodbye…because I
have again made a self promise not to injure. I guess a last hurrah.
Again…what pain? Pain of my mother. The fact that she never will be the person I
want or need her to be. It is not a question anymore but fact. So how do I stop
my yearning of wanting to call her if something good happens…or have her there
when something bad happens. How do I stop my heart from breaking because…she
never will be there for all of me. She only accepts me when I do something good,
but if my mental illness shows…she is no where to be found. She tells me I’m not
her daughter.
She still has the couch
someone abused me on sexually. And every time I walk into her house I am not
only reminded of what he did to me, but the fact that she keeps it there to hurt
me. There is pain, there is a lot of pain. I do not know how to grieve her loss.
I lost a childhood to physical abuse, sexual abuse and emotional abuse. It
hurts. As I go on in my life, I see where I am still broken. I have tried to fix
myself…but there is still something in my way. I cannot grieve. I do not know
how to grieve…and because of that, I’m still not completely whole.
I do a billion things in one day- therapist for kids with autism, a national
mental health advocate, running such a club on my campus, being a student, a
friend and running a support group and website online. I use all of this to hide
from myself when I think of the hurt. I know how to teach others how to let go,
but I have trouble letting go myself.
I stop my meds at times
out of anger. Anger that I will be taking these the rest of my life. Sometimes
they make me sick, but ultimately they make me well. In my manic states, I do
things that later cause me stress. And I don’t know how to undo them. I hate
bipolar, but as Linda tells me, I hide behind that label to hide the pain. I
need to accept my illness and do the things to remain well. Period.
So here is my pain, here is me baring my soul. I am so sad that I have so much
trouble with the sexual abuse. That I am afraid. So afraid that I got rid of
every mirror in my room, I don’t trust easily…and sometimes I wake up at night
screaming. Other times I go through the day and images flash through my mind
about the abuse. More so since I’ve been dating the man I will be spending the
rest of my life with. And I’m afraid. I’m afraid to be well in all area’s
because I’m afraid of what that may mean. I spend my life being afraid, even
terrified.
I miss it when I was well. Make no mistake about it, for at least a year, I was
like any other well person. I ate three meals a day, healthy three meals. I
slept for eight hours every night. I worked a good amount, and I had fun a good
amount. I had friends and a boyfriend and was doing well. I did well in school.
It was one of the greatest feelings in the world. And then I lost it. And it
hurt that much more. To know that I have to be so vigilant. There is pain.
So what is my pain? It’s being afraid every day, it’s having the images in my
head…it’s knowing these meds are for good…it’s not being able to sleep without
meds. It’s losing my mother…even though she is not dead. Physically she is
here…yet I have to let go somehow. And that makes me feel inferior…that I am not
good enough for my own mother to love me. Somehow I have to guard against
that…but I carry that around every day. I have pain that there are so many good
things I do in this world…but the cruel irony is that I have to choose who to
help…because I can’t help everybody. That hurts.
So…here is my pain. I’ve shared what I know.
