What's Real for Today

I haven't felt like writing.  I haven't filled out my food/mood log.  I haven't been taking my blood pressure.  I haven't done any of the things I'm supposed to be doing to show how I'm taking care of myself.  I've hit a brick wall and I don't care to show anyone the details of the crash.

At first it was because I didn't have any more copies of my sheet.  Then it became I didn't have the desire to write things down.  Then it moved to not wanting to write things down because  I knew I was slipping.  Then I didn't want to talk about it so I ignored having to make the copies.  Now I still care but I'm not sure the answers are in the details.  I think they're in the big picture.

I'm trying to get to the bottom of why I can't take a shower.  My sister gave me two gallons of paint.  One is a primer and one is white with a very subtle hint of cream.  My bathroom now is sage green.  We think if it's bright in there it will feel better and induce showering.  Now I just have to paint it and see if it works.  It''s just that I need the energy to paint.  That's something to do today.

I have no desire to talk to God.  No desire to listen to the Bible.  No desire to check in with Him.  I feel angry and don't want to be around Him.  I know he is with me.  I'm stuck with it.  I don't want to interact with Him.  I know He understands where I'm at so I take comfort in it.  Someday I will wander back but for now that's how I feel.

I'd rather eat or starve myself.  I'd rather drink than talk about what's stirring up inside.  I'd rather run away to my safe spot than stay here and face what's bubbling up to the surface.  I'm very tired.  I'm sleepy early at night and stay asleep most of the night through.

I'm taking my medication as directed.  I think I'll lay down and rest.

Thanks for listening.

"You Control You"

Those are the words my friend typed in a message through Facebook.

We grew up together and like a lot of friendships, lost track of one another for many years.  It wasn't until she initiated being friends on Facebook that we were able to catch up and develop a closer relationship.  I've been deeply blessed since then.

Kim lives four hours away in another state.  I've been able to see her a handful of times but with her teaching schedule and family commitments along with my illnesses and limited financial resources, we've coveted our time together via social media.  I don't know why we don't call each other.  I think it might be because we feel safer writing what's going on in our lives rather than talking about it.  

After all, some things are just too hard to say.

We've been doing this for a few years.  She knows all about my background, my struggles, my successes and has even offered to help any way she can with my book.  Both of us can sense when something is up by how we write.  It's a gift, really.  One that has been given by God, in whom we have placed our salvation.

She messaged me yesterday.  I was in a bad mood.  When she asked how I was I decided to be honest then tried to deflect her to how bad the Chicago Bears are playing this season.  No such luck.  She started asking questions.  Good questions.  The kind of questions that were not yes/no but required thought, feelings and explanations.

I shared how I'd been angry all day and how I wanted to cut all over my body to get rid of the anger.  I reassured her that I was not going to do it, I had no sharp objects.  It's just how I wanted to get rid of the anger.  In my mind, self-mutilation was the only way to get rid of it.  

She asked me what triggered it.  I told her how working on my weight with my therapist was angering me.  Keeping 27-30 pounds off but then yo-yo-ing 10 pounds was aggravating me.  I told her about the chart and writing down everything.

She said, "You control you."

She typed some other stuff but I couldn't get passed that one statement.  It's not like I hadn't heard it before.  It was as if I'd been able to absorb it and apply it in the moment of a control problem.  I controlled me.  

I control if I self-injure; nothing is making me do it.

I control if I overeat; nothing is making me do it.

I control if I take my meds; nothing is making me do it.

I control if I lose weight; nothing is making me stay fat.

I control if I drink; nothing is making me lose my sobriety.

So I said to Kim:  I am stronger than I think.

She said, "Yes.  Much."

That means....

I am strong and I can control self-injuring.

I am strong and I can control overeating.

I am strong and I can control taking my meds.

I am strong and I can control losing weight.

I am strong and I can control not drinking.

My dad's anger was out of control.  He was physically strong but he lacked self-control.

My anger is turned inward wanting to punish myself by physically hurting myself.  I'm learning to recognize the signs and symptoms before self mutilation takes place.

And therein lies the question:

Do I want to be like my Dad who hurt me physically for mysterious reasons and live a life in his anger and abuse?  Or do I want to proclaim victory in Jesus and learn how to live a life of righteous anger that doesn't hurt anyone, most of all, myself?

I'll take door number two.

Do Not Quit

Getting up the courage to print out my blogs so that my book can move forward.

You'd think this would would be as easy as snapping my fingers but it's not.

Even though I know God is giving me the thumbs up to get going, I still get nervous that I'm going to do something wrong and disappoint Him.

So....

I keep reminding myself that I'm not living in His automatic grace.

If I do make a mistake, He can fix it.

It's not the end of His will for my life.

If I choose to quit, I give up on Him.

If I choose to quit, I give up on His belief in me.

So....

I do not quit just because I MIGHT make a mistake.

I cannot live life in MIGHT.

I have to live life in MUST.

I must believe God has created the talent I need to accomplish this work.

I must believe God has protected my spirit to share with others this hope.

I must believe God will always heal my hurts no matter the depth of pain.

In the end, God will win.

And in the end, all who have suffered at the hand of abusers, will claim victory.

I Am Responsible

When discussing the depression I'd been feeling last week, I said to my therapist, "You are not responsible for my actions when I am depressed.  Whether I am laying on the couch unable to move or engage in life for a few days, whether I'm having fleeting thoughts of suicidal behavior or whether I am starving myself as a punishment for the mental illness I fight so hard to overcome.  You are not responsible."

"I am."

"I am responsible to talk to you.  It's my responsibility to make sure I drive to our sessions every week no matter how hard it might be unless driving would put me or other drivers on the road in harms way.  It's my responsibility to show up and talk to you about what's been going on that might have caused some of the depression to spiral so low and keep me there.  It's my job to be rigorously honest with you so that you can use your spiritual gifts and the leadings the Holy Spirit is giving you to help me through this dark time."

If I don't do these things, I am wasting my time.
If I don't do these things, I am wasting my therapist's valuable time when she could be helping someone else.
If I don't do these things, I won't receive the help I need to stand up against the spiritual warfare I am under which could last longer than I know at the time.

Throughout the years of being in therapy (since I was 15), I've had to fight very hard battles just to get my voice out of my throat.  Mix in the abuse secrets that were never to be discussed with anyone and you get a pretty messed up young lady.  Have her pick up her first bottle of wine and become a closet drinker and now you've got the ingredients for an isolated, non-talkative, everything looks good on the outside behind that plastered smile and someday....there's going to be an avalanche.

When the avalanche happened (several avalanches, actually), I was not prepared for the emotional pain and scars that were left behind.  Gaping wounds, permanent loss of the use of my heart, a devastated path of destruction left in its wake then complete silence in my soul - my dead soul - that would never again trust people or love people or seek out close friendships.

I stayed that way for many years.

Therapy helped a lot.  I trusted my second therapist, Liz Morrison.  I trusted my third therapist, Carol Davis-Serpas,  I trusted my Life Coach, Jeff Weineke.  I trusted my fourth therapist, Julie Tevenan.  I trusted my inpatient therapists at Alexian Brothers.  I trust my sixth therapist, Faith Gallup.

I alone am responsible for the quality of my recovery.  No one else can do it for me.
I alone am the only one who can discern what I need.  No one else is inside of me.
I alone can communicate what is working well and what is not.  I need to speak up.
I alone determine what I can handle at any given time.  I listen to suggestions - I stay open.

In the process of recovery, my therapist is my teammate.  I joined her team because she has the training and experience to move my ball down the field and score a touchdown.  I know I'm going to get tackled along the way.  I know there might be some injuries.  I know there will be some reviews of some plays.  I know I might get some penalties and the ball will move backwards instead of forward.

But this I also know:

1.  God drafted me as a #1 draft pick on His team.
2.  God's training camp is full and complete, lacking nothing.
3.  God assigned the right coach for this time in my life.
4.  God is the only coach with a perfect record of all wins and no losses.
5.  God's winning plan is not a secret.
6.  God invites every player to be transformed into wholeness and holiness.

My therapist is not responsible for my actions - I am.

When I'm having self-destructive thoughts, it's not her fault nor her responsibility to fix them.  It's my responsibility to call her or my psychiatrist or dial 911.

I am responsible for me.
No one else is.

And you know what?

I can do it!!

Learning How To Live A Better Life

I'm trying to live a better life.

Not a perfect life - I've already tried it and decided it's not worth the stress.
Not a life someone else thinks I should live - too much pressure for their approval.
Not a broken life - I'm allowing healing to take place no matter how slow it moves.

Two years ago on October 14th, God willing, I cut for the last time.  I can't believe I've been able to resist that form of self-injury with all these feelings leaking out of the holes in my recovery process.  The holes I'm referring to are not negatives or things I'm missing.  The holes represent times in my life when I did not feel what I was experiencing - I simply survived it.  Introducing then connecting feelings to those experiences is foreign but very necessary so that I can come full circle.

I'm no longer obsessed about folding knives, hunting knives, etc..  I'm not buying first aid supplies. I'm not living in the dark - I turn the lights on every night.  I don't watch violent movies all the time.  I talk more and have better quality friendships.  I've let go of relationships that were hurtful.

I'm learning how to create a better life.

I have an idea of what it will look like - some of the characteristics.

I take my meds as prescribed although I do allow a day off a week.
I pamper my kitties and make sure their needs are meet everyday.
I keep my house orderly and clean.
The struggles I have with my body both in size and hygiene I keep working on.
I set goals so that I can feel a sense of accomplishment.
I ask for help when I need it.
I sleep enough, rest enough and spend time learning about God.
I meet with friends and spend time with my family as I can.
I don't make plans too far ahead so that I don't disappoint people.

Key:  I allow myself to change anything I need to as I need to.

This is how I learn how to live a better life.

I keep practicing.