Bleh

I'm feeling bleh. Blah. Meh. Down. Melancholy. Withdrawn. And annoyed by all of this. It's Halloween and I should be excited. Hopefully that will change as nightfall comes and our display becomes more awesome.

I'll be posting pics, don't worry. Until then, Happy Halloween!

Odd . . .

I feel very strange today. My mood is kinda . . . down. But not really. It is at times, other times fine, other times just . . . off. I'm not quite sure.

I had a profound wave of sadness wash over me while I was taking my meds this morning. I have no idea why. It passed relatively quickly and I tried not to overanalyze it (one of my favorite things to do). But it made no sense to me.

Later, I started thinking about a couple of friends who are having marital problems (possibly serious). And I got to thinking about my marriage and how lucky I am to have the hubby I do.

See, I'm kind of a terrible wife. I have been the main stressor in my family over the last 2 years. I have been needy, time consuming, worrisome, explosive, angry, unpredictable, ungrateful, and a host of other equally not good adjectives. Yes, I've been sick with the worst mood episode of my life, but that doesn't excuse the above mentioned adjectives (at least in my mind. Because I'm ACOA and need to be perfect. Even though I'm clearly not).

I've spent so much time depressed and angry and withdrawn, barely participating in life. I've been self-absorbed and selfish, constantly putting myself before my family (the opposite of what I did growing up). I've been stand-offish and unloveable.

I don't know how my husband hasn't left me. I literally don't comprehend it. He says because he loves me and that's what people do. But let's be honest - I've been crap. I think anyone else would have left. But he's patient, loving, and kind. He's there to listen to me vent, to hold me when I cry, to leave me when I need space. He offers advice even when I don't want to hear it and encouragement when I think I can't go on. He puts up with my anger and outbursts and makes me laugh instead. He does all this without protest.

He is my hero, and I hope he knows that.

Therapy and ACOA

Today was the therapy day that I was (and wasn't) looking forward to. If you remember from my last post, I had read Codependent No More and had all these horrible feels and today I was going to start talking about them. Well, talk I did.

I started by reading M my last journal entry (which he found amusing, laughed, and joked that maybe he should be worried and leave). He reminded me that I didn't need to dive in balls to the wall with this. No, definitely not. But I need to start. And today was as good a day as any (especially with all the icky feels I've had from reading that book).

Funny thing is, I didn't really know where to start. I pointed out my anger and frustration. That I don't want to have to sort through this. It's too much and it's not fair and I want to be done with it!

See, I'm still very much that scared little girl, trapped in the darkness of my own mind, haunted by my memories and feelings. They chase me, like the wolf after his prey. I'm cornered now, back against the wall, and all I can do is fight for my life.

And this is a fight. A struggle within myself, to overcome myself. To pull this little girl out of the darkness, into the light, and show her that everything is okay. We've survived, thrived even. She needs comfort. She needs protection. She needs to be able to own herself, gain confidence, and start repairing the damage.

Here's where we start:

My mom is an alcoholic. She's been one for as long as I can remember. Life with an alcoholic is unpredictable, chaotic, and sometimes downright terrifying. There is fear, mixed messages, confusion, anger, guilt, shame, hopelessness, powerlessness. All of this takes its toll. It wears you down.

I was the caretaker. When my mom was drunk, I made sure she was in bed. I made sure my brother got to bed. That we were all fed, that alarms were set. I felt responsible for them, my brother and mom. I was overprotective of my brother - if anything "bad" happened to him it would devastate me (though I hid these feelings because they were feelings that would start a screaming match between my mom and I). I put them before myself - always. Even though I desperately didn't want to.

I grew increasingly withdrawn at home and in life in general. My true feelings caused problems. I learned quickly to bottle them up. I slept all the time - I claimed I had mono to explain that away. I thought about suicide - often. I wished I could get away. I didn't have friends. I felt different from everyone. What if they found out my mom was an alcoholic? The shame and guilt kept me mute.

 I hated my life. I hated everything about it. I hated my mom. I hated that my dad couldn't save me. I hated that nobody saw how much pain I was in, how close I was to killing myself. I hated myself.

Maybe if I worked hard, maybe if I was the perfect daughter, did well in school, got a job, maybe then the drinking would stop. That didn't work. Maybe I wasn't perfect enough. Despite my good grades and working nearly full time starting at age 16, the drinking didn't stop. I sought approval. I sought affirmation that I was good. That I did good. If I was good, she'd have to stop. Right?

Wrong. No matter what I tried, the drinking didn't stop. I wasn't good enough. She even said it herself. My brother and I were a burden and maybe one day she just wouldn't come home. I was a failure. I wasn't good enough.

There were screaming matches about her drinking. Constantly. My brother and I would find and empty her bottles of vodka. We'd confront her lies. There were so many lies you never knew what to believe. Broken promises of getting sober. We learned not to trust.

So often, after a screaming match, mom would say she'd only have a drink on the weekend. We said okay. Then it became a few. We said okay. Then it was one a night. We relented. Then it was however many she wanted. We gave up. She'd say she wouldn't drink if there were people over. We said okay. Then it was drinking no matter who was over. We gave up. We learned that boundaries didn't matter - they got trampled on anyway.

She was embarrassing when she was drunk. She acted erratically, was unpredictable, and said things that made you want to curl into a ball and hide away. She did this in front of company, family, my brother's friends (I didn't have friends). I felt responsible for her actions - as if I should be able to control them. I felt they reflected badly on me. I felt ashamed of her and guilty I couldn't control her actions.

Now, let's look at this (very) brief synopsis and see what I've learned, what I've picked up. Shame, guilt. Despite trying to do everything right and be perfect, I'm a failure. I don't trust, don't have boundaries, and don't know what to believe. My feelings are bad and should be kept to myself. I feel responsible for other's actions. I put everyone ahead of myself, often to my detriment. Pain, confusion, anger, resentment.

All of these traits (and others) have followed me to this day. All of these I struggle with every day. I never realized this until M had me research ACOA and read Codependent No More. So much of my behaviors and thought patterns make sense now. My mom's alcoholism wasn't as bad as it could have been. My childhood wasn't nearly as bad as others had it. But that doesn't mean it affected me any less.

My journey to healing and recovery has started. The road is long, and probably rocky at times, but I have all the gear I need to make the trek. Hopefully I'll find peace along the way. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll find that little girl and I can hold her in my arms and tell her everything will be alright.

Confusion, feels, and general badassery

So I recently finished reading Codependent No More which was a homework book assigned by my therapist, M. At first I was all, "um, totally not codependent dude." He insisted. He told me I was stable enough to handle it. Stable enough to handle a book? He also told me not to read it on a day I was feeling vulnerable. Okay . . . .

I read it. His warning was accurate. It was difficult. Had I read it earlier, when my bipolar wasn't under control . . . I shudder to think what would have happened. This book . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

The confusion, anger, feelings, pain and grief  that flooded me. I can't even comprehend, I don't even know . . . It's bad. It's all bad. The feels . . . good God the feels. M, what the fuck.

See, I've spent my entire LIFE suppressing this. All of this. All of this anger and pain and hurt and confusion. All of these God dammed FEELS. Suppressed. Boxed up. Hidden away in the darkest recess of my mind. Ignored.

Except . . . except they weren't totally gone. Not really. Because of my interactions with my mom. Because of my learned behaviors from my upbringing. And recently, M has been poking and prodding. He's the one who described me as ACOA, had me educate myself, stirred the beast from its slumber. He open the proverbial can of worms and these worms are ugly mother fuckers.

Everything I'm feeling right now, everything I'm desperately trying to hold in, shut up, suppress . . . it's leaking out. It can't come out. It can't. No.

But I fucking need it to come out. It has to. I'll never get better, never be truly recovered if it doesn't come out. And it terrifies me. I don't know what to do, where to start, how to deal. The anger . . . the anger I'm feeling right now. At my mom, my dad, myself. At the world. At how unfair everything is. At how, had I known this shit earlier, I could have saved myself some heartache.

Then there's the guilt, the shame. The pain, the grief. Loss. The origins of my unhealthy behaviors, habits, thoughts - all apparent. But still, denial. It's confusing.

This is shit I need to work through, and it's going to be hard. So hard. I'm scared and confused. I'm trying to hold everything in still. Honestly, I'm trying not to explode until I see M on Tuesday. I need guidance and support. This is a ton of ugly worms to sort through. From my earliest memory of my mom's alcoholism (age 6) to now (I'm 35) . . . 29 years of repressed emotion and anger and pain.

What have you gotten yourself into, M? Hopefully you fish because you now have a fuckton of bait.

Just a quickie.

No, not that kind. Get your head outta the gutter.

I've had lots on my mind lately. Trying to sort out my anger issues as of late, the feeling of almost being in tears most of the time, feeling overwhelmed with everything. It's frustrating, it's annoying. I'm also wrestling with knowing that I'm having another ACOA talk in therapy next week. I need to. I need to get through this and move on but holy FUCK is it gonna suck. I'll be writing more on this, at some point, just not now. Gotta sort it out still.

Right now I'm actually writing for a mini vent. See, J is in kinda a foul mood. Just an off day for him. Everyone has them (I swear the whole last year and a half has been nothing but off days for me). He's been working hard, doing stuff around the house and I get it.

But my problem is that I let the moods of other people influence my mood and bring me down. First, with J especially, I think it's my fault. He tells me it's not, just an off day. But won't elaborate. Then, for some unknown reason, the fact that he's down makes me resentful, then annoyed, and then down myself. Then I withdraw and want to be alone.

Which is where I am now. I didn't really have a breakfast (coffee, yogurt, handful of chocolate covered pretzels), didn't eat lunch (well, a slice of cheese), and I don't want to eat dinner. I don't care. I don't care if I eat or not. I get like this when I feel like this. Fuck you food!! *holds middle fingers out triumphantly*

So I took a break and ate a banana. Go me. My jaw is bugging me. It keeps popping. Fuck you jaw. My dentist said physical therapy is next step. Yay.

Stupid mood and stupid jaw.

Hey look! It's Tuesday!

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

I had therapy today, and I always seem to want to write when I have therapy. It makes me all intuitive and philosophical.

Or it just makes me want to get more shit out. I'm not philosophical - come on now.

Therapy today wasn't anywhere near as rough as it was last time (which was 2 weeks ago and was an ACOA talk). But I still feel horribly, emotionally drained. Like, I just need to sleep to escape all these feels.

Yes, I get Loki feels too. But those are different. Because Tom Hiddleston. 

I've been feeling a little more down and irritable lately. I have this sneaking suspicion it has a lot to do with not working with Mr. Chancy Pants anymore. I think I'll still be grieving off and on for awhile. And it's okay for me to grieve. I need to remember to give myself permission to do that. If I hold it in, well, that'll make it worse and will likely cause an emotional explosion. So where does that leave me?

(Yeah, Loki again.) It means I may actually be emotionally fragile sometimes (like I am right now), for seemingly no reason. I'm dealing with grief and loss while still trying to wade my way through managing the bipolar bit of my mood swings and all of the other emotional baggage and healing I've been working on. 

Sounds fun, yeah? Jealous?

Eventually, hopefully, I'll make sense of all of this and I'll push through and be me. And eventually, hopefully, I won't have to work so hard. 

My hubby and I are evil. Apparently.

It's true. We're evil heathens. Bad people who terrorize children and corrupt there minds.

Or at least that's what our neighbor would have you think.

See, Halloween is our holiday. My hubby, J, and I do Halloween like other people do Christmas. We go all out. Our yard is a month and a half long tribute to the macabre - cheesy and sometimes gory macabre. We have a graveyard with a gallows, skulls on spikes, a tree with eyeballs, and the Mystery Machine along with zombified Scooby and the gang. Our yard is pretty badass. Seriously.

Look:

See? Badass. This isn't even close to all the stuff we have. There's more. Lots more. And it will be up soon. Because awesome. J has made most of this. Probably 90%. And let's be honest - we're damn proud of our yard. We have people stopping all the time to take pictures. We have friends and neighbors telling their friends to come and see our display. 

But our neighbor across the street? Yeeeaaaaahhhhhhh, not so much. We'll call them R and his wife B. Now, R has never had an issue with the display. He's even complemented us on it. But B. . . that's another story. She's not a fan. 

She's also a bitch. No, really. A package for her was delivered to my house. So I did what anyone would do, I kept it. No. Joking. I took it over to her house, rang the doorbell so I could give it to her. You would have thought I was the devil incarnate coming to rouse her from her slumber. She was rude, unappreciative, and stared at me like I was an idiot. Fine. Next time I will keep your damn package!! 

So anyway, last night my doorbell rings. J was helping our son with some boy scout stuff at the table so I answered the door. There stands B, in tears. I was a bit dumb founded. It was butt ass cold and she asked if she could come in. Uh, suuuuure. She starts by waving her hands in front of her face (like she's fanning herself) because she's so "emotional" that she needs a moment to collect herself. She proceeds to describe how our yard is terrifying her children, that they can't even go outside, that they have nightmares every night and scream and have to sleep with her and R every night. She understands that we like Halloween or whatever, but if we could please take down the display or at least move it to the backyard because, from one mother to another, the terror needs to stop. 

Um, what? Wait, weren't your kids just playing outside 2 days ago? For hours? Without looking traumatized at all? Yeah, they were. I was good though. I was nice. I nodded where I thought I should nod and tried not to blurt out everything I was thinking (for example, she said her children scream that Scooby is going to eat them. My thought? Scooby just wants his Scooby snacks. It's not my fault those snacks happen to be the dismembered limbs of his victims). I told her that J and I would talk about it but not to expect anything. She thanked me, still crying and then hugged me. You don't just hug me. You don't. No. But I didn't cringe, I didn't shove her into the door repeatedly. 

J was listening the whole time and told me he was waiting for me to go off on her. I was proud I didn't! We talked about it, joked about it, posted it on facebook for all our friends to marvel over. And marvel they did! The consensus was that she should chill the fuck out.

Because here's the thing. Our yard? Really isn't scaring her kids. She doesn't agree with our display. She thinks it's vulgar and evil and bad. And that's what she's telling her kids. J talked to R today. He kept saying how B wants to keep the kids sheltered, how B doesn't want them to be exposed to something so bad. So J said, "so basically you guys are villainizing us and making your kids think that we're bad people." No! Of course not! Actually? You are. R made it known that this was all B - she doesn't approve. She even went to our other neighbors (ones that we know pretty well) and asked if they would approach us about it or would help her start a petition to have the display taken down. But, sadly for her, these neighbors like us and love our display. As do most people. 

So now, for them at least, we're the asshole neighbors. I'll be honest - I hope B approaches me again about this - because I won't be so nice this time. Especially after learning about the petition. And our display? Staying up. And hey - we still have a ton more to add!! And add we will!!

Bitter Sweet

Today was, most certainly, bitter sweet. The end of one chapter, the beginning of another. I could come up with more metaphors, but I won't. So, on to the good stuff!

Today was my last day working with Chance. I've been working with him (and J and N) weekly or bi-weekly since February. Seven months. I can't even believe it's been 7 months. I originally looked into equine therapy at the urging of my therapist, M. He knew of my love for horses and the dreams and thoughts I had been having of them at the time.

So I looked online and found the Pikes Peak Therapeutic Riding Center.

I believe I emailed first. I was set to call and speak with N to set up a meeting and then I was hospitalized. I met with her and J shortly after I was released and was introduced to the horses. I was drawn to Chance, or him to me (or both), and he became my boy.

I groomed, I learned how to lead, to have him follow me without the lead rope on, to take him over/through little obstacles, to drive, and to do basic ground work. I was learning horsemanship (I've ridden, but working with a horse is much different). But more than this, I was learning mindfulness. To be in the moment and experience it - truly experience it without worrying about anything else.

J and N encouraged me, listened to me, guided me. They pointed out how my emotions were almost mimicked through Chance at times. How he reacted differently based on my state of mind. If I was distracted and not in the moment, he wouldn't follow. How when I relaxed, or became more focused and present, he was more in tune with me, following me, chewing and licking. J and N drew similarities between different interactions/activities with Chance and what I was experiencing or working through. The three of them, in spite of my stubbornness, opened my eyes and my heart.

Through them, I found myself. I found myself. That's a powerful statement. The past year and 10 months has been the most difficult time of my life - I lost myself, I almost killed myself. And a horse and two amazing people helped me find myself again.

Which brings me to why today was so bitter sweet. I feel I'm at the point to move forward, to continue to grow. And even though this terrifies me (greatly), it's something I need to do. But this means not working with Chance one on one. Not having these bi-weekly meetings that I look forward to, not experiencing the connection and peace and happiness I get from being with him.

I'm staying on at PPTRC as a volunteer, working with disabled children and adults and the horses, and I'm very excited about that! It will be rewarding and fun and I like knowing that I can help, in some small way, someones else's recovery. And I'll still see Chance, and maybe even "play" with him every once in awhile. But it's not the same as working with him one on one, him and me, and there is a sense of loss with that.

And grief.

I am grieving this loss, and it's hard. As I knew it would be. My goodbye with him today was interesting and moving and wonderful and terrible. After I said my goodbyes, took off his halter and started to walk away, he followed and came close, as if he hadn't finished yet. And I wept, softly and silently.

I couldn't convey my deep appreciation to J and N - I would have lost it. Completely. So instead, I hugged them and kept my tears for the parking lot. And boy did I cry. I had to pull over the sobs were so uncontrolled. It was guttural, deep and ugly. It's how I cried when I lost my dad. It was a release of that grief and loss and was necessary. I've teared up several times since - I get a whiff of that wonderful "horse smell" on my clothes which always makes me feel calm and content and then I remember . . . and I tear up.

But the grief will pass, and I'll still be with horses and I'll still see Chance. It'll be different, but it will be good. Moving forward, finding me. And I know, for a fact, that these disabled kids and adults I'll be working with will have much to teach me as well.

Thank you, Chance. And thank you J and N. Thank you all for helping me find me again.

Kinda confused . . .

So, I'm annoyed. Which, let's be honest, has been a staple emotion for me lately. Among others. But this whole "positive-fake-it-till-you-make-it-stay-in-the-moment" shit is wearing me out.

Here's my problem:

I'm supposed to stay in the moment, right? Mindfulness? This is what I've been learning with Chance and have been really trying to practice. Not worrying about the future or past. Not dwelling on things. And really working on changing my manner of thinking.

Well, that's all well and good, except when my mood is down. When there's that hint of depression sinking in. Because alright, I'm down, I'm in the moment, I'm experiencing it, acknowledging it, not over thinking it and then move on. But my mood is still down. So I'm in the moment, experiencing, acknowledging, not over thinking and I move on. But my mood is still down. I'm sure you can see where this is going.

So I'm down, and I'm in the moment, so let's be positive! Let's think positive! Let's join a conversation, get up and move, write down things to be thankful for! But my mood is still down. Now, I'm supposed to be in the moment and experiencing my emotions as they're happening. So I'm doing good in that regard. Yep, I'm down. I get it. But I can't let myself stay down. Because that can start the downward spiral I'm desperately trying to avoid. And how long is too long to "stay in the moment" of that down mood? When should I worry?

You know what happens next? I get frustrated. Because I don't know the answer. So I try and stay in the moment and do positive things to get away from that down mood. Occasionally, that's worked. The past almost week and a half, it hasn't. So now I'm down, and frustrated, and I'm trying to stay in the moment while trying to change the moment and that's tiring. And confusing. And I beat myself up over it because I'm probably making this too hard and I can't seem to figure it out.

I know I'm more depressive by nature. I know this. I'm trying to change this. But this has been so GOD DAMNED HARD it's not even funny. Another frustrating thing? I feel like I'm overall doing better. That I've made strides. That slowly (very slowly) I'm getting there.

But J doesn't see that. He says that at times I'm a little more talkative. That's it. Which, me being me, I take as maybe I'm not doing as well as I thought. Which is a toxic thought. I try and ignore that, but it likes to fester in the back of my mind.

I guess I just hate that I seem to be going in circles like a hamster on its wheel, accomplishing nothing. I have to break this cycle and, quite frankly, I have no idea how.

I also think I'm in a mixed episode. That doesn't help.