And then it occurred to me
**warning: my space bar is reallyfeeling sticky and not cooperating. apologies.
Iwas putteringalong inthis newlife prettywell with a hefty doseof avoidance ofthe whole “relationship” challengesthatI face.Laughingly callingmyself a “trainwreck in relationships” (self-deprecating humor issuch a thin veilfor self-consciousnessorself-loathing). I wasenjoying my “single time” – afirst forme. I hadn’t joined a monestary and enjoyed eye candy as much asthenext girlbut I’djust put the wholethought ofdating onthe back burner.
Untilthis weekend.When Iwent tothe beachtovisit mychilhood bestfriend, her baby and her husband. She informed me that another girlfriend wouldbethere but I hadno idea untilI approachedherhusband atthebeachupon arrivalto give him a bighug that also joining us would be a guy thatIhave known through mutualfriends foreverandwho I hooked up with last December (J wasin the picture butwe hadn’teven kissedyet).So I almost swallowed my tongue whenC. turned aroundnext to my friend’s husband – shirtlessand holding a fishingpole. Gulp. “oh hey, what’s up?” That soundedcasual, right?
Fast forwardthrough aday of group activiteies and anevening of sexual tension and multiple drinksand finally some extendedalone time and conversationsaboutboth ofus having been engaged- and what thehellhappened last December (Imay have un-friended him on Facebook afterour encounter) (andavoided histexts)(andignoredhisphone call)- and where are you sleeping tonight and suddenly the bedroomdoor is closedandsex.sex happened.multipletimes. and itwas reallyquitegood.granted I’mout of practice and there’s always the initial awkwardnessandthe what do youlike andno, what do youlike and the getting usedto someone’s faces and noises.But Iwasbeaming whenIdrove away the next day afterasweetgoodbye kissandre-exchange ofnumbers (funny,I don’tremember deletinghimfrommy phone).
And the beaminglastedapproximately 3/4 of a mile of my 4 hour drive home. The rest was consumed withcrazy brain:
-would he make a good father
-whatifI got pregnant andwe had to get married
-howlong would Ihave to date him beforehe’d propose
-wouldI move to raleigh for thisguy?
-wouldhe move to charlotte?
-whatdoeshe do for christmas?
-whatwould meetinghisfamily be like?
-would my brother likehim?
-whatsortof house wouldwe live in together?
-whowouldgive me away at the wedding
And so on….soembarrassing toactuallytype those things ontothescreenasthey are indeed a reflection of how insanely obsessive and,well,crazy I get whena man enters mylife (even for 24 hours).
Ihad therapy on the phone withB. againtoday (didthatlast Tuesday as wellbecause I’veyetto find a therapisthere that willwork forme) and whilethe partsthatwe worked with are not theprimary players in this “anchoryourselfto a man asfast asyou can-craziness”, afterwordIhada moment ofrevelation. After spending the bulk of thesession working with a very young, very bruised andhurt andskittish childpartwho wants someonetocomfortherbut is terrified of it,I realizedhow fucking terrified I am of love. Loveisn’t something that canbetrusted.I loved my ownparentsandthey hurtthe fuck out of me.I often wonder now if I would bea happier healthier person if I hadn’t had my father in my life because of the boatload of hurt hegave me for years and years.So afterlookingat this partwhodesperately wants love butfeels that love is what hurther I wondered…
What ifallthe obsessive thoughts and the planning far far into the future and pushing things fasterthan they are ready to go…what if it’s a protective mechanism to avoid actually falling inlove. Love = hurt.Lonliness = hurt. Therefore,find a way to not be lonely while also not feeling real (dangerous, terrifying, powerful) love.
Just a thought. But it resonated.
So much to write. So little time.
Just a speedy post before therapy. Last night was monumental. I don’t even really know how to describe it because I am admittedly a little floored and overwhelmed right now.
I totally veg’ed last night – parked in front of a DVD with a steady stream of peanut butter intake. Went to sleep uneventfully but awoke around 3 flopping around uncomfortable. My back just couldn’t find a happy position. I had my third Network Chiropractic appointment yesterday and this need to move and adjust and mild discomfort is to be expected. So I actually laid on the hardwood floor for a moment because I felt that might make it feel better. To no avail. My stomach started to feel funny – no pain, just movement and sensation. So I had some tea and a snack. Nothing. I went back to bed and as I lay there in the dark a letter to my dad started pouring out of my head. I decided I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got the words out so my laptop joined me under the covers and I typed. and typed and typed. Honest. Raw. Words that I’ve needed to say but only know fully understand. Our story. Why I parted ways with my father. How he hurt me. The confusing intoxication I had with him as a child – both drawn to his emotional energy and abandoned by him. And it ended with closure. A final request for him to leave me alone. For him to seek therapy. I spelled out the boundary and stated that if he couldn’t respect it I would go to any length to protect myself.
I finished the letter. Re-read it and a very clear voice in my head said, “When you send this, you need to say goodbye. You won’t open any more letters from him. You will block his emails. And it will be over.” And I wept. And wept. The grief washing over me. “I don’t know if I’m ready for it” a little voice cried. “Okay, you don’t have to send it now. You don’t ever have to. But if you ever feel ready, here it is.”
Lessons learned this week:
1 – If you “call out sick” from work because you’re an emotional wreck – it’s not truly a lie because physiological sickness is likely soon to follow. Burning sinuses, flushed cheeks, prickly eyes and subtle body aches through my neck and shoulders tell me that this body is fighting off some germs after being beat up mentally at the start of the week.
2- My “Self” (with a big ’s’) doesn’t just have to be an innocent bystander. It can calmly assert itself and ask other parts to tone things down a bit (“I know you’re feeling really hopeless right now but I need you to step back for a moment so that I can think clearly about my next step.”). It can negotiate with parts (“I know that you really feel like dissociating because you’re exhausted from this week, but if you can just step aside so that I can be present for group tonight, I will allow you to totally ‘check out’ all afternoon tomorrow.” – impeccable timing for the Netflix delivery of season 3 finale disk of Grey’s Anatomy for just this purpose). It can ultimately play the role of a compassionate parent – listening to each parts needs but also asserting some of its own for the benefit of the whole system.
3 – I miss lifting weights. I felt so strong and powerful Wednesday night after lifting a bit and then slept like a baby for 8+ hours. This is one gym activity that has never really had to do with my appearance as much as just feeling active and strong. Yes, please.
4 – I have no idea what to do about my job. Maybe that’s okay. The options around here are quite shockingly limited and I interviewed today at a skilled-nursing facility. Blech. I’ve been arguing with myself all day about it. Parts of me wanted to cry and run away just upon entering the building – warm and smelly, lines of wheelchairbound slumping elderly with food on their shirts, mumbling to themselves. I just don’t do well with old people like that – never have. Sure I like the 90 year old in the back pew at church but she’s, well, still functioning pretty well and coherent. She doesn’t make me sad and squirmy and in search for a sink to wash my hands. And most importantly, her bodily fluids are contained. I have parts that want to prove to myself that I can do this job as a sign of achievement and strength. But deep down I know I’d be miserable. I’ve done a 12 week clinical rotation in a comperable setting and hated every day of it. I never relaxed or got over the awkwardness of naked grown-ups who can’t remember how to put a shirt on. At least with kids it feels developmentally close-to-appropriate to poop in your pants or be naked or snot or drool. Maybe I am just a kid person afterall. I inquired about one other position at a hospital but it’s an hour away and probably wouldn’t allow me to get to my therapy appointments – the whole reason I’m not relocating out of VT right now. So maybe I’ll just stick it out where I am. It works for my therapy schedule. Who knows, maybe our financially dysmal little non-profit can hold on for 6 months until I’m ready to move??! Maybe that’s a wishful thinking part? hmmm.
5 – I have finally accepted my mom for who she is and what she can offer me in terms of support. On Tuesday night, I was devastated and panicky, overcome by the yuck bubbling up, overtaking all sense of self-control. I sobbed and heaved and thought my chest would implode. I hyperventilated and paced and clung to my Aunt Julie blanket and hoped I wouldn’t die from the sadness. And the whole time I had the phone nearby, ready to call mom to rescue me. But I waited – for longer than I ever have before. I tested the waters a bit – afterall, all this time, energy and money on therapy is supposed to be allowing those exiled parts and their feelings to unburden and be heard. So I let it go until it was unbearable and then called, knowing full well that my mom’s tone would be directive and cold. That she would attempt to talk sense into me and would quickly shift me into the intellectual and analytical mindest that protects me from the yuck. I didn’t call expecting warm and fuzzy or even empathy. Just a rescue.
6 – There are many, many websites, blogs and support groups for the adult children of parents with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I thought my dad was so crazy and unique and hard to describe or understand. Turns out – he’s in a very special club of crazies who are astonishingly similar.
7 – Mentally rehearsing a plan of what to do if I come home to find my dad on my back porch makes me feel a little bit better.
8 – Sometimes my granddad knows just what to say, “[your mom] told us that your engagement is off. From here I can’t tell if that’s good news or bad news, but whatever its much, much better to break up before getting married. Finding the right mate is a very dicey deal and surviving a few “loves” is good experience!”
9 – Body dysmorphia seems to peak just before my period. My brain is having a field day checking body parts in the mirror, running my hands over them, trying on various pants to see how snug they are, pulling, pinching, squishing, etc. Hormonally exacerbated craziness.
My mental health day
Called out sick from work this morning. Got an appointment to see B. for an extra therapy appointment. Tears kept stinging my eyes all morning and I just watched the clock waiting for that 1:30 appointment.
Cried and cried and chest ached and mascara ran and snotted and blotted with a tissue. And B. validated everything – the emotional abuse, the trauma that is reactivated every time he contacts me. She didn’t tell me that I just shouldn’t open the letters and that I should block the emails. She really seemed to understand how unbearably painful this is. This having a father who is incapable of authentically loving me and yet won’t leave me alone. To be stalked and threatened. To be conflicted between wanting to hurt him and wanting to take care of him so that he doesn’t go off the deep end and kill himself. To live in terror of the contents of the next envelope from him.
I explored the unsettling fear I have of his “6th sense” ability to feel – even states away – when I’m vulnerable, most susceptible to his hooks and lures. The terror that if I “go there” in therapy and dredge up this unfathomable pain and grief over my attachment to an inconsistent, unpredictable and emotionally abusive parent that it will elicit a stronger response from him. He knows. If I dream about him, he’ll contact me within a few days. If I talk in therapy about my late (great) Aunt Julie, Dad uses her as ammo in a letter (“I’m sure Julie’s heart would break over this estrangement”). It is as if we are so entwined that even my thoughts and feelings are not my own after a year and a half of not speaking to the man.
Which brought me to the following -
“It makes me want to hurt myself because it’s the only way to really hurt him.”
There it is. There is the eating disorder, the suicidality, the self-loathing – all in a fucked-up little nutshell. The only power I have is to hurt myself.
i’m drunk and punctuation is complicated
the weekend will have to take a back burner tonight it was fun and all nothing momentous but as i dashed out to catchmy ride to the airport the four-year-old part of me grabbed the mail and stashed a small package with familiar scratchy handwritinginto the outside pocket of my carryon backage. return address from “Gost Von Hooten” – googled it tonight but no literary connection as i hypothesized.no just some name he made up to get me to open what i already knew was a package from him. the address, the handwriting gave it away – or perhaps it was the email 10 days ago announcing with fanfare that he was sending me something.
that something was a mix CD and a long typed letter (3 pages with a chickenscratch signature at the end.
“my dear dearest daughter,” blah blah blah i listened to 2 tracks on the mix CD last night but was confused about whether the songs were included because they had the word ‘father’ or ‘cancer’ or because it’s a lovesong. that’s sick but it’s true and i got feeling all swirly weird inside so i switched back to NPR.
and today a little bird delivered an email to my inbox – a ranting, angry, hissing email announcing defeat and depression and desperation and what does he have to lose by showing up on my doorstep and havinghim yell i hate him. and that made me scared.
and then the panick attack and then the wine and call my mom. and talked rationally and calmly out of it. out of the experience and into dissociation. drunken dissociation. “you can control your feelings and your response to this”.
and now the numbness. before it was the i had a daddy who doesn’t love me because he cannot love another human being and the ow in my chest and the regression to a sobbing toddler wanting to suck my thumb and dig my teddy bear out of the attic. but now just the numbing numbness.
The response I cannot send
Today the email didn’t come from Barack Obama.
Hi,
I sent you a very long letter that you should read. It is not the kind of letter that will upset you or rake up anything that will set you back. It is, however, important, even crucial.
Thanks,
Dad
Dear Dad,
How highly you must think of yourself to deem yourself an accurate judge of what will upset me or set me back. You have twenty five years of contrary evidence working against that deluded assumption. I will read your letter, not because of any hope that it contains anything that will benefit me or bring me peace; rather, because I have a pathological desire to hurt myself, physically and emotionally and because reading your correspondence, without fail, reminds me of how fucked up and toxic you are and reinforces my desire to amputate you.
I wept over your email today. I am trapped. You have some sick sixth sense that must stem from our two and a half decades of unhealthy twisted enmeshment that allows you to feel what I’m feeling. You felt it, didn’t you…last Wednesday night when everyone was at G’s reading? No no else noticed my absence. You know when I feel left out and non-existent; and you feed on it. It fuels you. I can fake strength to everyone else in the world but you…you…you know somehow even though I haven’t spoken to you in nearly a year and a half. Only you know me, you sick fuck. It makes me want to hurt me, because I know you’ll feel it. I want to kill me because a part of you will die too. There’s no way out of this. For as long as I live, you will force your way into my thoughts when I’m most vulnerable. You will bring me down. You brought me into this world and you will not stop until you see me out of it.
I absolutely abhor you. You repulse me. I love you and hate you more than anyone else in the world.
-me
stick a fork in me.
I am so very done with today.
Began with individual therapy – first in 3 weeks since B was out of town. It went well, brought some really heavy insights which only hit me in full about 6 hours later. I left really feeling drained, despite the fact that B apologized for “an hour of being analytical and intellectual” rather than doing any direct emotional work with parts. I burst into tears twice – that’s emotional enough for me, lady.
Totally checked out for my meager 5 hours of work. You probably could have thrown things at me and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Group tonight. Yoga was amazing – led by B. But the group session just fell apart for me. During check-in (yep, still hate that word after 3 months of group therapy) there emerged a theme of “how my family members responded when they found out I had an eating disorder” with the two girls before me (one of my personal rules in group is to go as close to last as possible in check-in). When it came my turn, I freaked. “I’m feeling sad and want to pass” I said as my eyes welled up and my voice cracked like a pre-pubescent acolyte. Fuck. I HATE EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY. I wasn’t even sure why I was feeling so sad at first but then my head got all swirly about my dad and the way he reacted when I told him on the phone about my eating disorder. I can’t even go there in my head because it makes me want to head down the road to seventy-pound-ville. The next hour of group was spent curled up in the tightest ball I could in my chair with my hands picking and fiddling while I experienced rapidly cycling tears and total dissociation to floaty float land where I’m hovering about 3 feet above my body. Finally I pulled out when the conversation shifted topics and I could engage in some intellectual banter.
Which brings me to the first topic on the agenda for my next individual therapy session – why I absolutely positively do not EVER want to talk about my father in group. I can’t do it. I know it’s relevant and that it’s only fair to speak for the parts of me that are really stirred up when others talk about related topics. But I just can’t. It’s like jumping off the high dive. I’m up there and the time to jump is nigh. I just can’t. I balk and I count to three and I pace and I bend my knees and plug my nose and step away from the edge again and again and again. It’s excruciating really.
And I’m just wrecked. I have about 5 hours worth of crying to do, wedged forcefully somewhere in my tight throat. Since those tears aren’t going to come now I’m just calling it a night.
A Blue family gathering
Tonight, probably as I type this, my entire family is gathered in the same room. Without me. My brother is giving a reading at the university where my father teaches and so they have reason to amass – brother, mom, step-father, dad, dad’s new wife. There they all sit, beaming with pride over my brother. Each set of “parents” holding hands and sitting close on their folding chairs. In my head the picture feels complete. Like no one notices that anything – anyone – is missing. Like I died.
It brought a very sudden and very brief wince of pain and three tears. And then it was gone.
FRUSTRATION
Conflict with J is ongoing and immensely frustrating. It’s really stirring up my parts and resembling the dynamic between me and my father (which Bree asserts isn’t coincidence – apparently we have a tendency to partner with people to continue a familiar cycle). Luckily I had a therapy appointment at 1:30 today but the hour before was spent in conflict culminating in me weeping hopelessly on the couch. The drive to therapy was consumed by the following thoughts from my “firefighter”parts:
1. I want to kill myself
2. I never want to eat again as long as I live
3. I want to fly home right now
4. I want to rent a hotel room for the next week and not come out of it
5. purge purge purge
I rehashed parts of the conflict with Bree and got major reassurance that what I was saying to J was HEALTHY and marks progress for me. Laying down boundaries (I don’t want anyone I know to read my blog), asserting my needs (I need some space right now and don’t feel like cuddling), speaking for my parts (Part of me felt really abandoned and rejected last night when you slept from the time I got home to the time I went to bed).
She tried to deduce from what she knows of J what might contribute to his particular conflict style. But mainly she explained that what J fell in love with was a me who was obsessively nurturing and caretaking, asserted no needs or boundaries, appeared always happy and was “highly functional”. I was living from my manager and helper parts. As I’m gaining some Self, he’s feeling like he’s losing something (something every man would want….a woman who takes care of EVERYTHING without so much as a peep). But ultimately she reassured me that gaining Self is what I need to do – for me and for the long-term sustainability of any relationship I am in. I just hope J can hang in there through it and adjust to the new me. I hope that he can use his therapy time to work through some of this stuff. Unfortunately I’ve never felt like he gains much insight or clarity or perspective in his therapy – truly I don’t know what he talks about or works on. I wish we could be back in couples therapy so we could talk about this stuff. Maybe something to put back on the table as an option.
Weird ED moment of the day: during conflict trying hard to get a salad down before therapy but started crying and feeling really really emotional. So….right there in front of J I spit the chewed lettuce back on the plate and proceeded to swab by finger all over my mouth to remove all the food. Ugh – gross. But I could NOT swallow food at that moment. It was revolting to me. I finished the salad a few hours later after therapy. Don’t want to eat dinner at all but there I’ll sit in front of J’s entire family pushing food around on my plate. FUCK I hate this.
Anyhoo..it’s Christmas eve. We’re supposed to be at his family’s house in 25 minutes for dinner. J isn’t home yet from Christmas shopping. I’m irritated. I’ll put on my happy face for the next few hours, I suppose. Really I’d like to stay home and read…although that is really sad and pathetic on Christmas.
Hope Santa’s good to everyone. Merry Merry, as my mom says.
A post about S-E-X.
Enticing, eh? Don’t hold your breath, you’ll pass out with anticipation. I’m not really feeling open to sharing details but J and I had a conversation about our sex life tonight. A life which has been dwindling for about 6 months and has dried to a meager sporadic trickle now. We’re not even married! Isn’t this supposed to happen around year 6 of matrimony? Not on your one year anniversary of dating?
I tried, really, with everything in me not to get too reactive, too inflammatory, too dramatic. To maintain a calm tone and speak for my parts instead of from them. But my LORD he makes it difficult. Everything is about him. Part of me feels it is utterly impossible to utter a single syllable about our relationship without him feeling judged, shamed, or altogether criticized. I attempted approximately 23 times to reframe or restate some of my feelings in a way that didn’t inflame his insecurities but then a feeling started creeping in that this was more than his self-esteem (perffect example – my use of the word “creeping” in this sentence would have elicited, “well, that is just really hurtful to me that you’re calling me a creep. no wonder I don’t want to have sex with you”). That somehow by getting so offended, he was controlling me. It is a not-so-subtle throw-back to the way my father reacts in conflict. Get so personally offended that the other part abandons their cause to try to care for you; tease out the caretaker part and make her apologize for any assertiveness or honesty she may have experienced, thereby negating her needs.
Well, fuck. Bree has said that my therapeutic work may be a bit slower because of my prime relationship mirroring some of my old ones and “stirring up” my parts. I didn’t at first want to admit that this was true, but tonight it started coming into focus. That recognition of being manipulated and feeling trapped by it. So what happens, class, when I feel trapped?? Everyone say it with me, “self-destruction”. That’s right. So first, as I fell asleep, I vowed to give up food forever (not even snacks) – just torture myself to death with a hunger strike. Then the desire to slice rivers of blood down my thighs (interesting if only because I’ve never cut before). Then came the suicidal ideation – at least it had some creativity this time – take a handful of Valium and go lay down in the snow in the middle of a field and die of hypothermia. I’ve heard that you go crazy first with giddiness from the cold and that sounds pretty appealling to me.
A part of me throughout this whole hour+ ordeal was screaming inside, “You had one hell of an emotional night. Now is just not the time to be getting into this with J.” Another part was shouting, “Fuck you, dude. Don’t ever say, “no wonder i don’t want to have sex with you” to me!!” And a third, “You are a narcissistic prick just like my father.” But I thought better than to speak for these parts.
