Well, it's Friday

I want to start by saying that I fucking HATE bipolar disorder. I really, really, fucking hate it. Like, a LOT.

I worked on Wednesday and it was a horrible day. It was busy, which was probably good, because it kept me distracted. My mood was awful. I was depressed, tired, full of despair, angry, and a host of other negative feelings. I cut (I have my scalpel in my locker). When I got home I lost it. And I lost it good. It was the ugly cry X10 and I wanted to die. Or, at the very least, I wanted to cut my arm to shreds. Hubs and kiddo had to work overtime pulling me from the brink. It was so bad.

Then yesterday, Thursday, I had a mandatory class for work. Knowing how my mood has been I was dreading it. But I ended up hypomanic. I was inappropriate and obnoxious. I was entertaining. I had fun. It was wonderful! It was glorious! Thank GOD!

After class I had therapy and we started trauma work. It went well. M gave me some ideas on how to manage my overreactive emotions. Yesterday was a good day. Hooray!! A good day!

And then there's today. A day that's really not a good day. Again I want to curl in a ball and not exist. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to be okay. To interact with people. But I'm so fucking angry today. At everything. And I feel exhausted and overwhelmed. And depressed. And like everything is pointless and stupid. I'm trying to counter, trying to stay positive, trying to remain calm and destress . . .

I really hate this. Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I just be okay? Why do I have to fight depression so much? I don't want to feel everything so much.

I'm meeting a friend for coffee which means interaction which will exhaust me more. And I work tomorrow which will mean interaction which may exhaust me more.

Or maybe I'll be hypomanic again, who knows?

That's the thing though - I never know. And that's exhausting.

I have more I want to write I just don't have it in me right now.

Frustrated

Well. I have 6 ECT treatments under my belt. And overall, I'm feeling better. Hubbs has noticed a positive change. Yaaaaaay.

But I'm fucking frustrated. Why? I seem to have slipped into a mixed state. Meaning? I'm hyperirritable. I'm a cranky-ass bitch. And I feel like I may snap - either go off or break down, I'm not sure which. This is a shitty feeling to have - especially after starting to feel better.

I'm trying to keep things in perspective.  First and foremost - you were close to killing yourself. ANY reprieve from feeling that shitty is to be cherished. Secondly, the majority of your days over the past 2 weeks were an improvement over where you had been.

I don't know what it is, really . . . .

I've been feeling better. I want to go do things. I want to start working out again, get in shape, eat healthier. I want to do more things with my family, participate in life again, go back to work. I'm excited to do this stuff . . .

And then this weekend hits. And my mood is crap. I'm irritable, bitchy. And today . . . ugh. The depression is trying to weasel its way back in. The despair. Everything is trying to come back. I'm on pinterest and see a post about cutting . . . I feel the draw, it's a trigger. Why? Why is it such a trigger? I'm feeling better . . .

I'm scared. I realize, I must be scared. I've struggled for so long, I don't know how to not struggle. I don't know how to not be depressed. And I realize, I don't want to struggle anymore - I don't want to have bad days. I think I equate bad days with failure. (God forbid I fail).

Again I have to remind myself that I have a chronic, lifelong, illness and that I get to battle my brain and emotions every. Single. Day.

And I don't fucking want to. I want the ECT to work and be done with it. I don't want to have to struggle every day. I just want to be fine. Yeah, I know: whoa is me, life is unfair. Stop with the pity party, right?

Well fuck you.

Thank  God I have therapy on Thursday.. Fuck.

I officially started trauma work

And it kinda sucks. And by "kinda sucks" I mean it's pretty awful and I'm not looking forward to this every week.

But it has to be done.

Today was my first full session of trauma work. It started with a brief recap of my past week and a half (which has been damn crappy with break downs, self harm, and tons of icky feels). Then M said, bluntly, "So let's talk about your childhood". I didn't know where to start. There's so much and it's overwhelming.

I started with my mom's fractured ankle. She fractured her ankle last Friday night falling down her stairs (I can only assume she had been drinking - she's done this before). I took her to the orthopedist yesterday and it turns out she needs surgery and can't drive for 6 weeks. Which means I'll be helping her around. Which means I have to have more interaction with her than I want to. Which raises my anxiety level and icky feels and makes me angry and uncomfortable.

I had a crap day yesterday. I only got one hour of sleep and I was in a foul mood. Then the above happened. I spent most of the afternoon crying uncontrollably. I wan't so badly to self harm. I had decided that anytime I feel like self harming I'd draw a butterfly on my arm instead. I ended up with 9 butterflies yesterday. I shredded 2 lawn chairs and threw them across the yard. I sat outside listening to music while it sprinkled on me (I was hoping for a downpour) trying to calm down, crying off and on.

And then something dawned on me. I started thinking that I was having a PTSD overreaction to something. Namely, having to help my mom out was putting me in the position of caretaker to her - the role I played growing up, taking care of her when she was drunk. Even though the situation for helping her out is different, emotionally I'm going back to when I was little. I'm dealing with childhood feels.

I told M this and he agreed that it was very probable that this is what was going on yesterday. It was a good segway into our discussion. Now, I'm not going to go into detail about what all was said. Not publicly. I'll probably write about it separately as I try to process everything.

One thing that did happen during therapy is that I emotionally shut down. I became guarded. I didn't want icky feels to flood me. This is something that I shouldn't do - I need to feel these things in order to process them, and I shut down. I'll be trying not to do that next week. I think I just had such a crappy week with feels and crying and such a horrible day yesterday with feels and crying that I couldn't take it today. So I shut down.

We spent our last 10-15 minutes talking about horses and horseback riding (I went riding last Saturday). It was a good way to decompress and try to release some of the icky feels.

This is hard, y'all. Trauma work sucks. I know it's necessary and that's fine - we'll muddle through as best we can. And hopefully I won't get thrown into a mood episode in the process.

Having some icky feels

Yep. Icky feels. I fucking hate icky feels. There are several things going on, all of which are contributing to my current state of being.

First, the Denver Comic Con was this past weekend. Hubby and I dress up, we kinda go all out. And in Cons past I've enjoyed this and have had a good time. Not the case this weekend. I spent pretty much the entire time emotionally numb. Just . . . numb. I was just kinda there. I didn't feel anything. Except when I was hyper irritable. I did have that. How fun. I was worried I was going to have issues with anxiety, but, save for one panic attack, I was okay on that front. Little things I guess . . .

Second, I'm kind of a shitty wife. And by "kind of", I mean I've been a shitty wife. Why? Well, I have had lots of shit going on mentally/emotionally the past several months and I've let it overtake me. I've become a bit self-centered. I've been very difficult to be around. And to top things off, I forgot that yesterday was father's day. Which hurt my hubby. We typically don't do gifts, but I failed to even say Happy Father's Day until I heard something on the radio about it. Oops. I feel terrible about this. I was going to write something up last night that explained things, that let him know how much I appreciate him.

But nothing came out. Not because I couldn't think of things, but because I couldn't put it into words. I felt horrible. I hurt his feelings. After everything he does for me, I couldn't even make one small acknowledgement of how amazing he is. Which made me realize that I have, indeed, been self-centered and have put my family and everything else on the back burner. Which compounded my feeling horrible but also brought up anger. Anger at what I've been doing, and anger at hubby because he's making me aware of my shortcomings.

Now, don't get me wrong, none of that is his fault, but it's what I felt and was why I couldn't write anything. So instead, I tried in vain to verbalize my appreciation and apology, tearing up and trying desperately not to. (which, hubs, I love you more than anything and I still don't know how you put up with my crazy ass).

This whole situation led to something else - me trying not to catastrophize the situation. Something I'm an expert at and something that is exceedingly detrimental to my emotional well being. So I rationalized, told myself focusing on my shortcomings would do me no good and that I needed to focus on not doing this again. Crisis averted.

Or so I thought.

This morning my icky feels were worse and I felt very self destructive. So much so that I burnt myself with a lighter. Part in punishment, part out of anger/frustration/confusion/fear. I'm not entirely sure why I did it, just that I did it and it helped very briefly. I actually wanted to be more destructive, but I at least stopped myself from doing more.

Third, I had therapy this morning. M and I went over my report from Boston (it came in and Dr. Schulman change my diagnosis back to Bipolar 2 - make up your mind!). So we talked about that and discussed my weekend, lack of emotion, the hubby situation, and my burning myself (M said he'd smack me if I did it again - I wouldn't put it past him). It was all very tense for me and not the easiest to talk about.

And then . . . and then we spent the last 20 minutes or so discussing how we were going to go about all of the trauma work that needs to be done. This is very treacherous, complicated terrain, and we have to be very careful lest we send me into another major mood episode. We agreed that the most troublesome area is my ACOA/alcoholic upbringing/mommy issues - especially since my mom is alive and I have a very strained relationship with her (and she wants desperately to be a part of my life). He asked when I last spoke with her (which was last Tuesday, after Boston) and just talking about that phone call made me tense, apprehensive, and brought up lots of nasty feels. M actually specializes in trauma (works very closely with the military and local law enforcement here) and redirected and "reset" me before I left. It was very clever, actually.

I still have all these icky feels though. From everything mentioned above. I'm trying not to dwell, not catastrophize, not ruminate, not fortune tell - all of the things that I automatically do. Which is hard and puts a lot of strain on me. I'm trying to redirect myself like M did in therapy. I'm going to read today so that I can escape my own mind for a bit. I'm not allowed to do any ACOA/codependency related stuff on my own - only during actual therapy (M doesn't think I'll be able to handle it right now and I tend to agree with him). So reading. And probably sketching. I'm forcing myself to sketch every day in hopes that I'll get my muse/inspiration/creativity back (since the Geodon stole it away).

Stupid fucking icky feels.  

I am an Adult Child of an Alcoholic

 Warning: This post is long. Virtually a novel. Well, maybe not quite that long . . .you get the picture.

I am an adult child of an alcoholic. That's a very strange statement, isn't it? And "adult child"? What does that mean, exactly? Well, I'm an adult, and I grew up as the child of an alcoholic parent. Until I started therapy, I had never heard this terminology, this phrase. I had no idea what it was or what it meant. At the suggestion of my therapist, M, I looked it up. Even bought a book on the subject, read it, and apparently didn't give it much thought. I don't know why I didn't.

But now, with all of the "issues" I've been having lately, and setbacks, and depression, and anger and feelings of emptiness, M suggested I look it up again. To really pay attention to it and maybe, just maybe, I'd gain some insight into my behavior and thoughts. I'm always up for a little insight, so I figured yes! Why not? I'll gain all the insight! And so I looked it up, I began reading, and I began noticing how I so perfectly fit the description of an adult child of an alcoholic.

I'd like to start with some background information. Just some basic stuff. My mom is an alcoholic. She's been one for as long as I can remember. Seriously. One of my earliest memories (I think I was 5) is of her passed out on the floor. I was terrified because I didn't know what was wrong. My brother (who was 3 at the time) and I kept trying to wake her, shaking her frantically, crying. She'd come to long enough to tell us she'd get up only if we stopped crying. My brother and I tried - we would go into the bathroom and calm down, wipe away our tears and try and be brave and the minute we saw her on the floor . . .the tears would come again and we couldn't move her or get her to talk or do anything except cry and worry. I think we both slept on the floor next to her because we didn't know what else to do.  

She drank most nights. Always Skoll vodka mixed with kool-aid. And she hid it. Under the kitchen sink. Under the bathroom sink. In a coat pocket in her closet. Anywhere she thought we wouldn't find it. She lied about it. Tried to convince us (and herself, I'm sure) that she wasn't drinking, she wasn't an alcoholic. We all knew the truth though. It was the elephant in the room we weren't supposed to talk about. Other family members weren't supposed to know. Shhh, it's a secret.

We never knew what mom we were going to have on any given night. Depressed, withdrawn mom? Angry, intolerant mom? Giddy, giggly, annoying mom? Roll the dice, take your pick. Not that it mattered, anyway. Sometimes she was all three depending on how much she drank. All we knew was that it was never consistent - we always had to be on our toes. And as we got older, we had to worry about the phone calls. She had, I believe, two DUIs and totaled one car. When she was in the hospital, and the police called, I didn't believe them. I didn't know what to do. And I couldn't drive -  I had to wait until my step-dad got home to go and pick her up. 

And there's so much more to write about it. I could fill pages and pages about the fights, the promises broken (so many promises), the feelings of hate and guilt and loathing and powerlessness to do anything to change the situation. I could fill pages about how going to my dad's house on the weekends was a vacation for me, where I could be myself and be happy and not have to worry about if my mom was okay. I could fill pages about my current struggle with her in trying to create a mother-daughter relationship. I could . . .but I won't. At least not here. This post is going to be long enough as it is.

The last thing I do want to mention, however, is that despite the drinking and lies and broken promises, my mom did everything she could to provide for my brother and I. She did everything in her power to give us everything we needed and wanted (if she was able). Despite her drinking, I love her. Despite her drinking, I think she was a good mother. And I say these things for a few reasons. One, because they're true. And two, because my mom isn't a monster - she didn't set out to "harm" us with her drinking. She's an alcoholic - alcoholism is a disease, and one that can be brutally hard to recover from. I honestly don't know why she started to drink - according to my step-mom, it was before her and my dad were divorced. But I'm not sure. 

As a result of growing up in an alcoholic home, many children of alcoholics develop similar characteristics and personality traits. In 1983, Dr. Jan G. Woititz wrote the book, Adult Children of Alcoholics, in which she outlined 13 characteristics of adult children.

Below are the 13 characteristics of adult children of alcoholics (ACOA). Below each characteristic, I'll write about how it pertains to me - or at least I'll try to. This is where a lot of soul searching had to be done. And, perhaps, some ugly truths faced.


1. Adult children of alcoholics guess at what normal behavior is.
The home of an alcoholic or addict is not "normal." Life revolves around the addict and most family members must learn to keep their family going, as they know it. Children of alcoholic or drug-addicted parents do not live the same life as their "normal" peers. Therefore, the child and later the adult must simply do their best at maintaining normalcy, as observed from friends, television, or simply guessing.

This one . . .this one yes. I always felt like an outcast - I still do. I don't feel "normal". I didn't have a normal childhood. I had to worry about my mom constantly - how much was she going to drink tonight? Is she going to pass out? Do I need to get her into bed? Is she going to drive? I would worry and have to hide that worry. The few friends I did had never came over to my house - what would they think if they saw my mom? I'd pretend everything was okay, and tell lies. I still even do this into adulthood - although I do it a lot less now. I would sit embarrassed at family dinners with my in-laws or whomever because of my mom's behavior. I'd ignore it, try to explain it away . . .anything. I didn't know how a mother-daughter relationship should be. I still don't. I see it with my friends, but I don't have it. 

This has carried over into other aspects of my life. Virtually everything I am or I do or I say feels . . .false. Not that I'm lying or trying to be false or anything like that - I simply don't feel like I fit in - anywhere. I've always been the "weird" one, the "funny" or "sarcastic" one. I'm described with these terms as well as odd, awkward, inappropriate, strange, off and many others. I try to wear these terms as badges of honor when in reality they make me feel less than human - even more of an outcast. (not all the terms are bad - but you get the idea).  

This has caused some social anxiety as well. Without really knowing how to act, well, what if I say something wrong? What if I act strangely? What if my home life is different than theirs? I don't know. I just feel different. In so many ways.
 
2. Adult children of alcoholics have difficulty following a project through from beginning to end.
In the home of an addict, daily living is frequently interrupted due to misbehavior or unpredictable actions of the addict. For example, the family may start playing a game, but then dad comes home and everyone must stop playing. Or maybe mom promised to help work on a school project, but then passes out and never follows through. When project completion and follow-through are not consistently modeled, it is a hard skill for the adult child of an alcoholic to learn.

I'm not so sure that #2 affects me that much. If anything, I'm a bit frantic trying to finish things. I've tried my best to be vigilant about what I'm doing, are there deadlines to keep, is there some way I could do this better or faster? I was neurotic about this in school, I'm neurotic about this in my profession, and I'm neurotic about it in my artwork. Maybe it's because I had to finish some things that my mom didn't. Maybe it's because despite her drinking every night, my mom still held down a difficult job with the government and went back to school for her degree. Maybe it's all of that and more.
 
3. Adult children of alcoholics lie when it would be just as easy to tell the truth. As a child of an alcoholic or addict, one must constantly lie and make up excuses for the addicted parent. The child also hears the parent and everyone else in the family lie and make up stories constantly. This behavior is a necessity to keep the addict family intact, and therefore becomes a natural trait. Once the child acquires this behavior, it tends to stay with the adult child.
These lies are not always malicious or harmful. Something as simple as the route the ACOA took home, or what type of fruit they like is fair game for lies. Unless the child or adult receives enough consequences (either internal, like guilt or anxiety; or external, like getting in trouble with someone), the ACOA may begin to practice the art of telling the truth more.

This one is tough. This one . . .this one I don't want to admit. At. All. But it's true. And it's difficult for me to admit that. It is. I know I lied all the time as a child. About everything. Home life, school life, friends, everything. Talking to me you'd think I was on top of the world and had tons of friends. Reality? I was not, and I had no friends. And I got good at lying. Scarily good. 

I've tried my best to break this habit in my adult life, and I'd say I've done a fairly good job. Most of my lies now are about money - nothing big, but a lie none the less (like saying I sent a bill out when I really forgot to and it's crammed in my purse so I can send it out the next day without J finding out, or neglecting to tell him that I spent money on something and waiting for him to ask - of course I "forgot" to tell him). I still lie about my mom from time to time. And I lie all the time about how I'm feeling - it's much easier to lie about that than tell the truth.

This causes a lot of guilty feelings in me. Especially now that I'm admitting it and examining it. I don't want to lie - especially about small stupid things that make no sense to lie about. I understand the origin of it, I understand the why, and now I need to stop. 
 
4. Adult children of alcoholics judge themselves without mercy.
No matter what the child of an alcoholic or addict does, they cannot "fix" their parent or their family. They may be able to take care of the addict or other members of the family, but they are unable to fix the root of the problem: the addiction and relating family dysfunction. No matter how well the child does is soccer, how high their school grades, no matter how clean they keep the house, how "good" they are, they still can't fix the addict. Everything they do falls short.
Additionally, the child of an alcoholic or addict may blame him/herself for bad things that happen in the family, and are frequently guilt-ridden for reasons beyond their control. Perfectionism is very common in ACOAs.

Guilty. I've always thought everything I've done falls short - and I still do. I struggle with this day to day. I was always a perfectionist in school - I did everything I could to get good grades, to achieve. The only thing I didn't do in school was sports or band or anything like that - low self esteem +no friends+"weird"=not feeling comfortable doing anything like that. I worked. I started work when I was 16. I payed for everything myself - car, insurance, clothes . . .I payed for college myself. I wanted the burden taken off my mom. I took extra classes, I volunteered. 

And nothing helped. Home life was still the same. Nothing changed no matter what. And I did feel guilty about this. I felt that I failed my mom. I tried talking to her. Tried getting her to go to AA meetings. If I could do so well, surely she could to. But it never happened. No matter how hard I tired. No matter how well I did.

To this day I'm very judgmental of myself. How I look (I'm always too fat, my clothes don't fit right, etc. despite what everyone tells me), my artwork isn't good enough (and when I get praise, I don't take it well - I assume the person is just trying to be nice), being a mother (I always feel like I could be doing so much more), as a wife (Again, I could do so much more). The list goes on and on. I'm my own worst enemy.
 
5. Adult children of alcoholics have difficulty having fun.
Growing up with an addicted parent is not fun. Kids are not allowed to be kids. When the kids are not given this joy, the adult usually does not know how to simply enjoy life. The ACOA is constantly worrying about their addicted parent, or is in trouble for things they should not be responsible for, or compensating in some other way for the addict. The usually carefree, fun time of being a child often does not exist if the parent is an addict.
The addict is the "child" in the relationship. Because of this, the child does not know how to be a child.

Number 5 is a bit difficult for me. I know a lot of the time I was worrying about my mom, lying for her . . .but I did get to act like a kid. Going to my dad's house was always a release for me. Though, thinking about it, my step-mom told me that Saturdays I was always tense and withdrawn and didn't act like myself but by Sunday I was a happy, carefree kid. So maybe I didn't act as much like a kid as I thought. I remember sleepovers with friends (always my brothers friends, who were the only kids I typically became friends with), playing video games, football outside . . . so yeah. Kid stuff. 

I'd say I had a difficult time just "letting go". Just being in the moment and enjoying it. And I know . . .I know this is an issue I struggle with now - more so in the past year. I can't just "let go" and have fun. I have to worry and fret over everything. I have to worry about how I'll feel tomorrow or next week or when I'll have another depressive episode or if I'm going to be mixed or hypomanic. I can't be in the moment. I need to. I truly need to. I just can't seem to figure out how.
 
6. Adult children of alcoholics take themselves very seriously.
Due to the gravity of their roles in their families growing up, adult children of alcoholics take themselves very seriously. The weight of the family, and thus the world, is on their shoulders.

Sometimes, yes. I feel responsible for a lot of things. I have to do it all. I don't ask for help - to a fault. I try not to take things seriously, but I do sometimes. I can get in the habit of over-reacting to the littlest things and sometimes fail to see the humor in a situation. And humor is something I possess (let's be honest, I've had numerous people tell me I should do stand up comedy), so to not be able to see the humor in a situation . . .well that's quite a blow. And I've been taking things more seriously lately.

With having had two major depressive episodes in the past year - both with very close suicide attempts - it seems I've almost had to be more serious. Which does tend to go against how I usually am. I should be able to make light of it, make some morbid joke of it. And in time, maybe I'll be able to 
 
7. Adult children of alcoholics have difficulty with intimate relationships.
Having never known a "normal" relationship or family roles, the ACOA does not know how to have one. The adult child of an addict does not trust others. The ACOA has learned that people are not trustworthy or reliable, and has had their heart broken from such an early age.
New relationships must be handled with caution, too, because the child of an alcoholic doesn't want others to find out their secret. Adult children of alcoholics have learned to shut themselves off from others to protect their feelings, as well as to protect their family.

When first entering a relationship I would say this holds true. I have a hard time with this though - on the one hand, I have a hard time coming to trust people, and on the other, sometimes I share way too much, way too fast (I blame that on the bipolar disorder - I have a hard time with boundaries and using my "filters"). One thing I've noticed is that I expect to be let down. With friends, family, most people . . .And this gets reinforced when, let's say, a plan falls through or any number of small infractions occur. I do tend to isolate myself because of this.
 
8. Adult children of alcoholics overreact to changes over which they have no control.
The child of an alcoholic/addict lacks control over their lives much of the time. They cannot control when their parent is drunk, or that the parent is an addict to begin with. S/he cannot always predict what will happen from one day to the next, and this is very anxiety producing. A child needs to feel safe. Because of this lack of control as a child, the adult child of an alcoholic/addict craves control. They need to know what is going to happen, how it is going to happen, and when.
Of course, this control and predictability is not always possible. If plans are changed, or somebody does something that the ACOA doesn't like or feel comfortable with, all the insecurity of their childhood may come back to them, and the adult child may over-react, leaving the other party stunned or confused.

Oh my. Yes. I want to be in control. I don't like feeling out of control, I don't like when someone or something takes control away from me . . .no. If something doesn't go my way I'm libel to throw a tantrum or yell or act rude and snippy. I feel stressed and anxious though I do everything I can to hide those feelings.

I like having my days planned out. I know what I'm going to do, and when I'm going to do it. Don't throw a wrench in that plan. Just . . .don't. If I'm scheduled to work, and end up getting called off, it's rough. I planned to work. Now I have nothing planned, nothing to do. My overreaction to this is usually a depressive mood - or overt anger. Situations arise like this all the time. And it can be the smallest, silliest thing that doesn't go my way and it's the end of the world. Completely ridiculous things like J is driving and he's not in the lane that I would be in and I can't make him change lanes and so I get anxious and annoyed and try to silently will him to switch lanes because I don't want to sound like an ass-waffle by telling him to do so. 

I like the control. I like the predictability. I'd even go so far as to say that I'm not a fan of spontaneity.
  
9. Adult children of alcoholics constantly seek approval and affirmation.
Similar to ACOA characteristic number four, children of alcoholics and addicts are used to continuously seeking approval or praise from their parent or other valued person. They probably did not grow up with a regular and consistent rules and expectations, and could never make their addicted parent happy.
Not knowing what is "normal" or expected, adult children of alcoholics need someone to tell them what they are doing is right. They are often indecisive and unsure of themselves.

I certainly seek approval. All. The. Time. And for everything. Even the little things like doing the dishes. I'll point out that I did them so J can say "thank you". I want the recognition that I did something. I need that recognition. I want and need praise for doing things like housework, cooking, paying bills, even though J and I share these responsibilities equally. When I don't receive the recognition or praise I feel . . .slighted somehow. I take it as a personal insult. What did I do wrong? How can I do better? Is J mad at me?

And it's the same with everything. At work, with friends. I don't want to make people mad. I don't want to rock the boat. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I think I do this more so with J than with anyone else. I'll seek approval from my managers from time to time, but I try and do it in a round about way.

Indecisiveness is often my middle name. I'll waffle on where to eat or what to do in the evening. Even on which store to go grocery shopping at. Don't get me wrong - I can make a snap decision when needed (for example, resuscitating a baby or, for some reason, buying a house), but the small things . . .those get me. And I know it's annoying to the people around me - especially J (at least I'm assuming so). And, try as I might, I can't seem to change that.

 10. Adult children of alcoholics usually feel that they are different from other people.
Another overlap with other characteristics, children of alcoholics sometimes know from an early age that their home is not normal. Children from addicted families may or may not know what is different, and sometimes don't completely "get it" until they visit friend's houses and observe their parents. 'Hey... Janie's mom makes her do her homework until she is finished, and they have dinner at this time, and then they have to go to bed at 9. Every night!" This consistency may be shocking, and either attacks or appalls the child who is not used to such structure.

I've always felt different from other people. Always. I don't think I've ever felt "normal". It's been this . . .I even know know how to describe it. Like this black void that follows me around, like I'm missing something. Like part of me is gone. And even that's not quite it. I feel like I hide so much, that so often I'm fake in how I relate to people. I try to act how I think I should act - not how I may be feeling or thinking or experiencing. It's all a play (which, incidentally, goes along with my hiding my bipolar moods).

I marvel at how other people can move through their lives seemingly without thinking about their every move. "Is it normal to say this? Or think that? Will they think I'm abnormal if I do this?" I listen to my friends and coworkers carry on with their stories, so happy and oblivious to how difficult it is for me to even speak. Because I may say the wrong thing because I don't know how to act. I've been described as "socially awkward". I've even joked that that's how I should introduce myself - "Hi! My name is Cami and I'm socially awkward." Sometimes I think I should.

I have trouble opening up to people because of this. Meeting new people and having to talk, to carry on a conversation often brutal. The other night I had dinner at a friend's house. Her and her husband were there, along with another friend and her husband. Which is usually okay. But my friend H had another of her friends over - one whom I hadn't met - and I nearly froze. I didn't know how I should approach the situation. It should be easy. Talk. Share things about yourself. Interact. Why is that so bloody hard? I floundered. I was quiet at times. I tried to find a common ground - something we could talk about - and I just couldn't quite do it. I wanted to hide. I wanted to leave. I didn't know what to do or what to say and I felt ashamed of myself for being so me.

I don't fit in. I don't belong. I've always been the weird one, the strange one. I've always been the funny one and sarcastic one, which are good traits I guess, but I've always been an outcast. In school I was shunned and ignored, as if people knew I was hiding something. I'm sure that was only my perception, but the feeling was prevalent.

And that black void follows me to this day. I can't shake it - I don't feel I ever will. No matter how much people tell me otherwise. I'm missing something. Whatever it was or is, it's gone.

11. Adult children of alcoholics are super responsible or super irresponsible.
Once the child from an addicted family gets older and forms their own identity, the ACOA may either strictly follow a schedule and wants everything in order, controlled- perfect. These adult children often struggle with anxiety, OCD, perfectionism, and eating disorders.
The opposite result is the ACOA who is a party animal. This adult child may develop an alcohol, drug, or other behavioral addiction. This ACOA may live a life very much like their addicted parent, or they may "shape up" and get their life together, with appropriate support.

I am the super responsible one. Good grades in high school and college. A BA in biology, BS in nursing, married, house, son, ducks lined up in a row. I've never been in trouble with the law, never done drugs. I actually did drink for awhile - about 3-4 years from ages 19-23, only on weekends. The typical young person thing to do. I like things ordered. I have little quirks that are a little OCD (the toilet paper goes over the roll - if I'm at your house and it doesn't, don't worry - I'll change it for you). At work I have certain ways I do things, certain steps that I take, in order. I hate when things don't go as planned. I like predictability. I want to know what I'm doing each day and if something changes I'm liable to fall apart.

My brother, on the other hand, was the irresponsible one. He  partied, experimented with drugs, got several DUIs, dropped out of college . . . It's interesting that we went the opposite way with this. Luckily he did manage to "get his life together" and is doing quite well.

12. Adult children of alcoholics are extremely loyal, even in the face of evidence that the loyalty is undeserved.
"Why do you put up with him?" Adult children of alcoholics/addicts are used to dealing with just that- an addict. They are used to either taking care of an addict or seeing others take care of an addict. Drunken fights and broken promises is normal to the ACOA. Growing up, the child of an alcoholic was probably told "it isn't his fault" or "he didn't mean it, he was drunk."
Because of these lowered expectations, an adult child of an alcoholic/addict frequently ends up in a relationship with another addict, abusive partners, or otherwise unhealthy relationships.

Growing up with an alcoholic parent actually made me do the opposite - I wanted nothing to do with people who drank. I wanted no part of it. I was so sick of dealing with everything with my mom that the thought of doing that with a boyfriend or husband was not an option.

I did, however, run into issues in a different manner. I was in an abusive relationship and found myself making up excuses for the abuse ( he really loves me, I must have done something wrong). For a brief time I tried defending him and then it was convincing myself that his behavior was normal. After 3 years I knew something was wrong but didn't have the courage to leave for another year.

13. Adult children of alcoholics are impulsive. They tend to lock themselves into a course of action without giving serious consideration to alternative behaviors or possible consequences. This impulsively leads to confusion, self-loathing and loss of control over their environment. In addition, they spend an excessive amount of energy cleaning up the mess.
The last trait is fairly self descriptive. The ACOA will struggle with falling into unhealthy patterns of behavior, in whatever form it might take.

Yes, I can be very impulsive. And impatient. And selfish. Once I get my mind set on something you better get out of the way. J and I can be at the flea market and someone is selling puppies. Well, we're getting one. I don't care if we have a dog (who dislikes other dogs) and we don't have the time, that puppy is damn cute and we're getting it! J, thank God, is the voice of reason and takes over. We're at a grocery store and they're sampling cheesecake. We're going to buy all the cheesecake! I don't care if we don't need it and they're $13 each. We're buying the cheesecake. I'm becoming bored with my job and am thinking about changing the area I work in. Oh, there's a job posting for a day shift in an area I'm not sure I'll like? Screw it! I'm applying!

You get the point. I do this with so many different things. And I get impatient and almost frantic about my decisions and can become very selfish and only think about what I want. I don't care what anyone else says or thinks or feels at that moment - the only thing that matters is my one-track mind and the decision I made. Sometimes this has lead to arguments because I'll do something without talking it over with J (like spending money). And I always feel like crap afterwards. And I have to try and make amends and I feel like an idiot and am left wondering why I ever did it in the first place. And that's not a fun place to be.


The next 14 characteristics are taken from the ACOA World Service Organization. Many of them are the same as above, but there are a few that are different. The ones that are similar, I'm not going to write about as it's covered above. The ones that are different, obviously, I'll be writing about.


 1. We became isolated and afraid of people and authority figures.

I was never aware of this aspect until later in life - most notably in the past few months. That's not to say it wasn't there - I think it always was - I just never acknowledged it. Let's start with my past though - seems like the logical way to go.

 

Growing up I was always shy (and yes, I've always known that). I never said much, especially in social situations. Even when with friends say, during lunch in high school, I could barely talk. I worried about what they would think and I was nervous and uncomfortable. It took me a very long time to come out of my shell, so to speak. I was okay speaking with teachers, most of the time, but my hands would get clammy and my heart would race. I was this way when I started working, as well, and it was only after I had been at my job around 2 years that I started to open up.

 

I truly started opening up when I started college. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that what started this openess, this willingness to talk and interact, was a manic episode and alcohol use. I was with my ex, hanging out with his friends, and partying . . .and then you throw in the hypomania . . .well, I became a bit overzealous at times. Maybe the experience served me well - I made friends, I had more fun, I had less anxiety (at least in the case of interacting with people - my relationship with my ex is another story).

 

I think I had a period of time where I wasn't as shy, wasn't as anxious. I became outgoing, inappropriate, loud, trying to be the center of attention. The big part of course was the innapropriateness (let's be honest - I had no idea how I should act). After my son was born, I started to become more withdrawn again. J and I would be at a store or something and I would want to know the price of something - I was too nervous to go and ask. If I was told something (like needed car repairs) I would go along with what was said because I couldn't stand confrontation.

 

And in the last year, since my near suicide attempt, it's become much worse. But not in all areas. At work I'm the picture of confidence and authority. I know my job, I know it well, I'll bark orders during a code and take control. No anxiety interacticg with patients or doctors (in fact, I like to boss the doctors around). But in my personal life, not so much. When J and I hang out with friends - very good friends - I have a hard time opening up. I feel like I can't relate and I'm quiet and all I can think about is leaving. J has a huge family and at get-togethers (most notably last Christmas and this thanksgiving) I can barely manage. I become excedingly withdrawn and tend to either stay by myself or stay by J's side. I feel overwhelmed and want to leave, leave NOW. But I can't. And I go to the bathroom a lot so I can hide for a few minutes. And I'm surprisingly NOT ashamed to say that I'm glad I work this Christmas - that way I don't have to go through the uncomfortable, suffocating anxiety that I experience there.

 

 2. We became approval seekers and lost our identity in the process.

This is similar to one above.

 

3. We are frightened of angry people and any personal criticism.

 I really, really hate angry people. I'm certain that their anger is either directed at me, or caused by me. No matter what the issue is. This is especially bad with J. I'm convinced that any time he is upset or blah or mad or anything that it's because of me. It's all my fault. And I try desperately to find out what's wrong, what I did, and how can I make it right. 

I do take criticism poorly. I hate to be criticized. I take it as a personal attack and that it means the person thinks less of me or dislikes me or I must have done something wrong. It could be criticism about how I fold laundry or something completely stupid and I get defensive, angry and upset. Even if it's jokingly and I know it's jokingly, I don't take it well. I overreact and either get upset or mad. Sometimes to the point of completely shutting down.

 

 4. We either become alcoholics, marry them or both, or find another compulsive personality such as a workaholic to fulfill our sick abandonment needs.

No. Sort of addressed above, but definitely not. I don't drink, J doesn't drink, our friends don't drink. And I don't think anyone in my life has any type of compulsive personality. Apparently I wanted to buck the trend with this one. Probably because I didn't want to follow in the footsteps of my mom.

 

5. We live life from the viewpoint of victims and we are attracted by that weakness in our love and friendship relationships

 This one has got to be the hardest for me to write about. The most difficult to acknowledge. To myself. To anyone. You see, I like to think of myself as strong. I've been through a lot. A lot. And I've always been adament that this or that didn't bother me. That I didn't dwell on the past or even recent issues.
 

And that is a complete lie.
 

Do you know how difficult it is for me to admit that? How much it physically and emotionally pains me? And I'm not being dramatic - I'm being dead serious. This goes against everything that I make myself out to be. Everything. I'm not a weak person. I don't want people's sympathy or attention or anything. 
 

And yet I do. And yet I crave it. And I loathe myself for that. I'm embarassed by it. I'm so distressed by that that I'm tearing up just typing this. I don't want to be a victim and yet that's exactly what I am. I'm a victim of my circumstance, my past, my upbringing, my bipolar disorder. As much as I attest that I'm not - that's exactly what I am.
 

I do things subconsciously . . .and yet it's not subcouscious because on some level I'm aware of what I'm doing. When I started talking about my rape and abuse from my ex I was truly distressed by it. Honest to God distressed about it. But I played it up a little. Maybe acted a little more distressed than I was. Maybe a little more dramatic when I talked to J about it or talked to my two closest friends about it. Of course, I'm not a victim so I made sure that they knew that - even though I was very much playing the role. Maybe I needed the attention, the support, the affirmation that I truly had gone through something traumatic.
 

But, as J pointed out, I had kept that all burried for 12 years and it hadn't bothered me at all in that 12 years. Why was I making such a big fuss over it now? I don't know. I don't know why. Because I don't want to be the victim but I want the attention of being the victim. And I hate this. I hate this about myself. I'm suppossed to be strong and push on.
 

But I don't. And with this exercise, with me very honestly looking at my behavior, I've noticed things I have't acknowledged before. Another thing I've noticed is using my bipolar disorder as a crutch. A crutch for my behavior, for whatever. But I don't do it often (thank God), and I want to stop that before I do. And I keep going back to why the hell am I doing so horribly this year with the depression and mixed episodes and the stupid thing is that I know why and I've written aobut why but I still don't accept it. And I see this cycle over the past year and I see things moving in the same direction with continuous bouts of depression and not getting better and then I wallow and I dwell on everything and I become a victim and slave to my bipolar disorder. And apparently it causes me to write long run on sentences.
 

The point is, regardless of how much I do not want to be a victim, I very much am one. This is a new view of myself - one that I neither wanted to admit to myself or anyone. And now I don't know what to do. I don't know how to change or move forward or stop the behavior. And I want to stop. I don't want to be the victim anymore.

 

6. We have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility and it is easier for us to be concerned with others rather than ourselves; this enables us not to look too closely at our own faults, etc. 

When I look back, I'm not sure how much this applies to me. I now that now I do tend to take more responsibility and I think I'm more concerned with others, but I'm not entirely sure. Sounds a bit wishy washy doesn't it? See, I tend to put others ahead of myself, sometimes to a fault maybe, but this one is difficult for me. 
 

And I'm thinking now, trying to come up with examples and what I see is I did put my ex ahead of me - big time. He was always first. I didn't do it that much with friends to be honest. I put my mom ahead of myself - tending to her and worrying about her when I needed the attention. But this is about all I can think of. I hoestly believe that J would describe me as selfish now. That I've been doing more things for myself rather than for our family. I'll spend several hours painting instead of doing housework or paying bills or running errands. When I have money in my paypal account from Etsy sales I'll spend it on me rather than on the family. I want what I want and I want it now. Who knows - maybe I've become this way because of how my past has been.

 

 7. We get guilt feelings when we stand up for ourselves instead of giving in to others.

  This one is up in the air. I don't get guilty when I stand up to others. One, I rarely do it, and two, I only do it if I have a valid point to make (otherwise I'll tend to defer). Now, if I don't give in to something or someone, I can feel guilty. J might want to do one thing and I might want to do another, but I'll go along with what he wants to avoid feeling guilty and to avoid hurting his feelings (although most likely his feelings wouldn't get hurt).

 

 8. We became addicted to excitement

This one is quite interesting. I am an adrenaline junky. Not to the extent of most - I don't play risky sports or go skydiving or anything like that. But at work . . .boy howdy. Resuscitating a baby? Oh my God yes please? Code on an adult? I'm there in seconds. Post-partum hemorrhage? Let me in there. Stat c-section? Please? May I go? My coworkers think I'm crazy for this, but I absolutely love it. You know what else I love? Tea. That fact is irrelevant but I figured I'd throw it in for fun.

I'm not sure why I'm so much in love with doing things like that. I don't know how that relates to growing up in an alcoholic home. If anyone knows, please enlighten me.

 9. We confuse love and pity and tend to "love" people we can "pity" and "rescue."

I'm not so sure I do this. I don't confuse love with pity. I don't pity my husband or friends or co-workers, and I love them (well, most of them). And the very few people I pity, I don't love. Maybe another one I'm bucking the trend on. 
 

10 .We have "stuffed" our feelings from our traumatic childhoods and have lost the ability to feel or express our feelings because it hurts so much (Denial).

I hid my trauma. I hid the drinking, I hid my abuse and rape, and I pretended that they didn't happen and didn't affect me. For awhile (a little over 12 years) I felt nothing about my rape. Had virtually forgot about it. I ignored my feelings about my childhood. I did deny that part of me. It's certainly much easier. 

But now that I started opening up about it, I can most certainly feel it. The feelings came flooding back and it was almost too much to bear. But besides all this, and before all this, I was still able to feel. I felt everything else except my past. 

 

11. We judge ourselves harshly and have a very low sense of self-esteem.

This one is addressed above.

 

12. We are dependent personalities who are terrified of abandonment and will do anything to hold on to a relationship in order not to experience painful abandonment feelings, which we received from living with sick people who were never there emotionally for us.

I've never considered myself as dependent, but when I think about it, I am. At least a little. I don't depend on most people - in fact, hardly any. And I think that this stems from the fact that growing up, I could only depend on myself. So in one aspect, I'm very stubbornly independent. 

And at the same time, I'm so very dependent on J. I would be lost without him. There's so much that he does that I wouldn't even know how to do or approach - I don't even like taking my own truck in for an oil change. If he weren't around, if our relationship faltered . . .I don't even know. I would try everything to keep us together, to keep him with me.

One thing I hate to admit, especially writing it here because he might read it, is how dependent on my therapist I've become. Obviously, he's helped me so much, more than he'll ever imagine, but I'm so terrified to not see him. What will I do then? It's strange, I had never seen a therapist in my life until last January. And now I can't imagine not seeing him. It makes me feel pathetic and stupid and like I can't take care of myself. And I can - I know I can - I've done it my entire life. It's just that I feel so much better after each session. I've learned so much, released so much tension and anger and bad feelings and memories and it helps me feel better about myself. And I look forward to it. And now . . .now I'm definitely dependent on it. And that truly does make me feel weak. Because I need it. Because I'm scared about not going. Because eventually, I won't be going every week or every two weeks or every month. Eventually I won't be going at all. Fuck.

 

13. Alcoholism is a family disease; and we became para-alcoholics and took on the characteristics of that disease even though we did not pick up the drink.

I'll be honest - I'm not exactly sure what this means. I mean, the statement says that I would take on some of the characteristics that my mom displayed, and that makes sense. I'm just having a hard time with this. I don't know which behaviors. Some of the above characteristics seem as though they could fall under this category. Others, not so much. And maybe there's a whole host of other traits that I might be exhibiting.

Thinking back on my mom's behavior, she lied, she yelled, she overreacted, she constantly felt sorry for herself and blamed her situation on external factors - sometimes vague, sometimes something that made absolutely no sense (in a drunken stupor one night she blamed her drinking on not receiving a paycheck from Disneyland from when she worked there as a teenager). She was often unreliable and uncaring and distant. She had three broken marriages and only the third I can remember. And she treated my step-dad like crap. He was the nicest man and she yelled at him and accused him of everything under the sun. I don't know how he put up with it as long as he did.

That was when she was drunk.

When she was sober (typically until around 6pm) she was caring and loving and interested in our school work and our days. She could be fun and I could joke with her and feel close. She took very good care of us as we grew up, despite her drinking. There was such an opposite in her behavior from daytime to drinking time.

I think I try to emulate her good characteristics. Everything I wanted in my mom is what I try to be for my son. Seeing how she treated her ex-husband, I made a promise to myself that I would never treat my husband like that. Ever.

I don't know if I'd consider myself a para-alcoholic. Maybe in some ways, I guess, if any of the above numerous characteristics apply. But I'm trying my best to not be like her.

 

 14. Para-alcoholics are reactors rather than actors.

What? A nuclear reactor? Am I a nuclear reactor?

I'm assuming this means that rather than taking action, I react to a situation. Is that correct? I don't know. That's what I'm going with. 

So do I react, or act? Both, I think. I often do tend to sit on the sidelines, not making much of a fuss about anything. Jumping in when I need or want to. I'm very rarely the catalyst for anything. Almost a bystander to my own life. I've let opportunities pass me by because of low self esteem, feelings of inadequacy, not knowing what to do or say. I know I've done that. That would be reacting I suppose. 

But I can and will take action. I can be that "actor" in my life. Give me an emergency situation and I'm the one in charge, making things happen. Sadly, however, is how little I see myself doing this. Being the actor. Is it fear of confrontation? Fear of disappointment or letdown? I'm not quite sure.

I know this post is ridiculously long. Trust me - I know. It took me countless hours to write this and I've only just scratched the surface. I researched and thought about and contemplated everything. And I thought long and hard. I learned a lot about myself in the process. Including things that I didn't really want to know or admit or acknowledge, but that I needed to in order to be able to move on. To move on through recovery and my life. If I understand the things I don't like about myself, I can learn to change them. If I understand where many of my characteristics and behaviors come from, I can learn why I react a certain way or say or do certain things or have such strange feelings and always feel different and isolated. (and I can still write awesome run-on sentences). 

And even with as long as this post is, I still have so much more to learn. So much more to figure out. This is an ongoing process, one that most likely will take the rest of my life. I'm going to view that as a challenge. A challenge to learn more about myself. A challenge to learn to love myself a little more. And a challenge to change the aspects of me that I don't like and enhance the ones I do.

No doubt I'll be posting more on this in the weeks/months/years to come. And I look forward to doing so. And if you've read this whole post, you win the internet. Congratulations! You're the proud owner of the internet!

Now I'll leave you with this: a song by the amazing Amanda Palmer. It's called "In My Mind" and it's a wonderful song. The first time I heard it I cried. And then I listened again, and cried. It fits me so perfectly. Every word I can relate to. It's the first song in an very long time that has actually moved me. So enjoy it, please.

A bit of a rant . . .

I don't know exactly what this post will be about. Maybe everything, maybe nothing. I have a sneaking suspicion it will be stream of consciousness about everything bugging me and going through my head and controlling me right now. And that's a lot.

 

I think I'll start with my artwork, my paintings. My painting has been at a fever pitch - neurotic and fast paced, an ever-pressing NEED to get as many done as soon as possible, yesterday if I can and I have to keep up the pace because if I don't, what then? What will I do then? And I need (and have) more and more ideas that need to come out, and they need out NOW, they need to be on paper. And I've been going on and on like this for, I don't know, 3-4 weeks? J has pointed it out to me and I'm trying to be more aware. But I feel anxious if I can't paint. Because it's this NEED.

 

And then, there's this opportunity to maybe have my work seenby other people, to be used in a presentation by my psychiatrist and therapist, maybe be in a magazine. And that's exciting and amazing and wonderful and I've had good feedback about how powerful my work is and how it may help other people going through what I've been dealing with. How awesome is that? So or course I need to paint more. More and more pictures and they need to be done now. And I need digital prints made for the presentation and magazine (if that happens) and I need those done NOW. And I'm frantic about it, and anxious and I feel like time is slipping away to get it done. If we don't do it NOW, it won't get done. Ever.

 

Now, couple that with this almost crippling fear about having all of that done with my work. You know why? I don't think it's good enough. I don't think people will like or relate to it, despite what they've said. They're just being nice. I want so badly for my work to be out there and be seen, to help others, but I'm convinced that none of it will happen, it's pointless to even try, so why bother?

 

And so I'm stuck. I want my work out there and I paint (and enjoy it, let's not forget that) frantically, eratically, so focused on the task that I have blinders on to everything else. But I'm so convinced that none of it matters anyway, that I feel guilty and sheepish and stupid and defeated. All of this swirls in my head almost constantly. I worry that if I sit down to paint J will say or think something negative or critisize me or get upset or angry because I'm doing that and not something else. I've almost become frozen.

 

Now, the next "big" issue is my work. My work which everyone thinks is so wonderful and amazing and oh my God you must LOVE your job! No, actually, I don't. It's boring and not particularly challenging. What do I do? I deliver babies. Not quite all the time - I work on post-partum too (moms who have delivered). Post-partum is BORING. So boring. Unless there's a post-partum hemmorhage, or code or eclamptic seizure. Then: fun. The other section I work in is the nursery. I attend every delivery and my job is the baby. Only the baby. This part is a little more fun and challenging because you never know what you're going to get - a healthy pink crying baby, or a limp blue one with no respiratory effort (my favorite ones, actually - and no, I'm not joking. I love a good ressusitation).

 

Anyway, I've been toying with the idea of finding something else - in nursing of course - just in a different area. And I've been toying with this idea for 2 YEARS. TWO. BLOODY. YEARS. At first, I wasn't quite sure which area I might want to go to. Oncology? GI? And then, I got scared. Of change maybe. I don't know. Change IS scary. And I like most of the people I work with. In fact, I work with my 2 best friends. And it would be difficult to leave them. And it's all so familiar and safe. Familiar, safe, working with friends. What's not to love? I should like it, right? I've been doing it for 4 1/2 years . . .But no. I'm growing more and more dissatisfied with my job every day. Now, that's not to say I don't have good days. Days where I do, indeed, have fun. Days when I enjoy being at work. Days where I get to do something to really make a difference, at least for one family. And I like those days. And I wish I had more of them.

But the sad thing is, I'm still not happy there most days. I'll have fun with my friends and other coworkers, but my job is mostly routine, no real changes, no real challenge. I've become a bit bitter. I can get snippy, too judgmental, less empathetic and I hate that about myself. That's not who I am. That's not who I want to be. Well, try to stay positive! You know what? I do. I try damn hard to stay positive, to curb judgmental thoughts when they arise and to try and have fun and keep my anger in check. And it's hard. But that's just the name of the game.

So what do I want to do? I've always said oncology, but something else seems to have a stronger pull on me: psych nursing. Yep. Working with crazies like me. I mean, why not? I know how shitty and out of control you can feel. I can relate to them on many levels. And wouldn't it be nice to help someone like me? I think quite a few people would think me stupid or daft or all sorts of things if I told them I wanted to do psych nursing (in-patient psych, hopefully). I think some people would think it's a phase and it will pass. And who the fuck knows, maybe it is just a phase and it will pass. However, again, I've been wanting to do something different for 2 years and only haven't because of fear. And this is an area I'm very interested in. Hell, I even ordered books on therapeutic communication and will be ordering a general psych book as well.

But still, I'm scared. I'm worried about leaving my friends, the familiarity, and the level of expertise that comes with working in the same area for almost 5 years. Change is scary. I'm back and forth too on when is a good time to really start looking. Why? I'm worried about mood instability. I'm admittedly not handling stress very well at the moment. And to start a new job, with new people, in a new place, with new expectations, and stay stable and level headed is a tall order right now. The minor stresses over the last 3 days have me on a roller coaster of emotions again. Should I just jump in and go for it? Do I wait until I'm more stable? I have no idea.

Of course, in the meantime, I figured "Hey! Since we want to leave so bad, but are just scared to do so, lets go ahead and sign up for our RNC exam and apply for the charge nurse position on the floor!" Yeah. Way to go self. (the RNC exam, by the way, is a national level test you take showing that you're an expert in your field of nursing - you get more fancy letters behind your name and and extra $1.50 and hour). So now I've got these 2 things - the RNC, which I already paid my $300 to take, and taking on a charge nurse position. The charge position will at least look good on my resume . . .

Fuck. There's more. But I'm too tired to focus and type. I'll write tomorrow I suppose This turned into quite the long rant. Oops.

I could scream

This blog post I'm actually writing at work. In an email. To myself. Mainly because our work computers are assholes and have to run the oldest version of internet explorer known to man which OF COURSE doesn't support blogger. So I'm writing it in an email to copy and paste to my blog. Awesome.

 

Well, now down to business. I've been a bit . . .off lately. I don't know. I'm not even sure how to explain it. J had noted that I was being neurotic and frantic about things - several things - and now that he's pointed it out, I'm becoming more aware of it. More aware of my rapid, spiraling thinking. More aware of a mild anxiety that never seems to leave. More aware of this need to get ALL the things done and do them NOW. And let's be honest - it's annoying. Couple this with my stupid cough and congestion that won't leave and my lack of sleep because of it and you've got a not-good situation.

 

And so what should we do? I know! Let's add in money woes as well! Yay!! $1100 for the timing belt in my truck with another $1000 of work still needing to be done. Then yesterday morning (at 1am no less) our washing machine became possessed and died. That's a minimum of $250 for repair (if it's something simple) or upwards of $700-800 for a new one. We just renewed my license plates ($275) and of course, Christmas is coming. Wonderful.

 

J let me know about the truck costs today and it just . . . I don't know. I was pissed and upset and depressed and worried . . .and everything in between. My thinking and mood began its downward spiral. Everything is pointless anyway. We should just put the house up for sale, buy a smaller one in the process, and foreclose on the first one - we won't be able to sell it anyway, not in this market. Our credit might be shitty for awhile but we'll have a smaller house payment. I can try to pick up as many extra shifts as I can, too. Who cares if it stresses me out  - I'm on pills, aren't I? And in the middle of all this FUCK everything else. Nothing else matters anyway.

 

This thinking . . .is bad. And I have a hard time stopping it. And what's worse? This wasn't everything going through my head. The other thing, the thing that made me feel like complete shit, is about my paintings. J said that I could go ahead and have my paintings proffesionally scanned. That way I could give copies to Dr. C and M to use in a presentation. That way I could work on selling prints and making a book with them. That way, with the help of Dr. C, I could maybe get them published in a bipolar magazine. I was excited about that. Soooo very excited.

 

The problem? It's going to cost $240 to have them scanned. $240 that, in light of everything else going on, I shouldn't spend. But the thing is, I want to. I don't think anyone understands how important this is for me. J might, I think he does, but think of how much money we're spending this month already. And I feel guilty and selfish and like a complete ass hat if I even bring it up. I don't want to bring it up for the fear of being seen as selfish. And that's how I feel. Like a selfish brat whinning if she doesn't get what she wants. And I HATE that. So much. And I sit here torn as to what to do. Do I ask J and risk him getting frustrated with me? Do I wait and lose the opportunity of having Dr. C and M being able to use them?

 

And so here I sit, feeling like a selfish tit and realizing that this whole post makes me look like a selfish tit. And so I do what I do best - I berate myself, and I fume over my shortcomings and my selfishness and my inability to NOT over react and my eventual moodswings that will arise from all of this because I can't control anything.

 

And then I cried. In the report room. And I felt like shit after. And I went about my day feigning happiness. And I don't want to tell anyone about this but I write it here because I really do. My apparent frantic neuroticism spills over into everything, it seems. I wish J hadn't pointed it out but I'm glad he did. If I'm aware of it, I guess I can learn to control it. Before I was aware I was in ignorant bliss. I don't know which is better, really.

 

So yes. I'm a selfish tit. I hate how my mind works right now - I have no idea what's going on or why it's happening. More importantly, I'm a tit. Let's not forget that.

Edit: Before posting this when I got home, I read it. And it's pretty self deprecating. And not how I should be thinking. I thought about not posting it. I thought about  rewriting it. Instead, I posted it as it was. Why? Because it's exactly how I feel. Good or bad, I'll post how I feel and what's going on. No sense in lying.

Well Hello There Wednesday . . .

How did you sneak up on me so fast?
The last few days have been . . .weird. An almost constant state of low level anxiety. Heart pounding, racing, hands shaking, adrenalin pumping, on alert, fear, worry. Constantly. Why? What's different? What's the cause?
Who knows, really. I have some ideas. There's dry and musty old bones laying around, waiting to picked up again. I'm stepping over them slowly, gently, delicately. I can't crush them. Not yet. Soon. . . but not yet. Though they are crumbling under their own weight . . .
Why do I even try to wax poetic? Meh.
I'm opening up more about my past, my rape. Treading lightly, but getting it out there. It's getting easier to talk about. The pain is still there, but the sting isn't as bad anymore. I also brought up another sore point with M today. Again, something I kept secret about my rapist - the sexual and physical abuse. I've told people about the control before. About the emotional and verbal abuse. But I always kept quiet about the other . . .worse abuse. But I talked candidly. M pointed out how what was done to me was cruel and wrong and horrible. Unforgivable. I know this, of course. But hearing it from someone else, from my therapist, a man whom I respect deeply, who I trust wholly and implicitly. . .made all the difference in the world.
And do you know what I realized? Yes, what happened to me sucked. It was horrible in so many ways and no one should EVER have to go through that. But I'm stronger for it. It helped shape me into who I am today: a smart, vibrant woman. A force to be reckoned with. I'm a wonderful wife and mother, a loyal and caring friend, a skilled and empathetic nurse. Or, as some have pointed out, a comedian. I am these things in spite of and because of what I experienced.
 My past can be seen as tragic and sad, a hindrance on my mental well being. Or, as I like to view it, it can be seen as empowering.  This ass waffle stripped me of my dignity and self worth and shamed me. Sadly for him though, I have the last laugh. Because despite everything, despite the hiccups with my bipolar disorder, I'm thriving.
Thriving.
As I continue to work with M through all this, and as I open up to my trusted friends and my hubby, the fresh pain will subside. It's already become more dull and I imagine it will continue to let up. And then these bones, these musty, putrid bones, will finally be crushed - dug up from the past and crushed into nothingness.

Ooooo, It's Saturday

A very creative title, I know. You're welcome for that.
I  had planned on writing last night, but there was too much stimulation in the house and I was too tired to try and concentrate. It seems silly sometimes to update the couple of random people who may stumble upon this blog, but it's helpful for me. So let's get on with it, shall we?
Thursday. Was not too bad, actually. I worked that day, a full patient load, and my patients were all quite lovely. I floated through the day with my head just below the surface - feeling a little melancholy, depressed - and couldn't seem to bring it above the water. No matter. I've had thousands of days like that. Who knows - maybe that's what my baseline is. All in all, not a bad day.
Friday. My alarm clock woke me from a nightmare. A nightmare about my rape. A nightmare so vivid, I almost screamed out and was near tears. I kept reminding myself it was a dream, I was at home and I was safe. I calmed down slightly in the shower and I became convinced that my rapist was going to be at my work, his girlfriend or wife having a baby and I would be the one at the delivery. Why did I think this? Hell if I know (though there were snippets of that in my nightmare). I was a bit frantic as I left for work, my anxiety building as I got there. I immediately checked the names of everyone in labor and of everyone coming in to be induced. At least there was no matching last name. Still, my anxiety climbed. I sat down to get report and was called to a delivery. As I entered the room, I was in near panic and unable to calm myself. I tended to the baby who required resuscitation with shaking hands, trying to focus solely on what I was doing. Luckily, I was only in there for 25 minutes - because when I got back to the nursery I almost collapsed into a shaking ball of worthlessness. C, who was charge nurse on the floor, was in there and talked to me while I took my Xanax sub lingually (thank GOD I had remembered to bring it with me). She's someone who I trust, and I told her why I was so upset - I told her about the rape (not details, mind you, but that it happened, I was finally working through it, and I was having nightmares). She told me some of her own past (which I won't mention here - confidentiality for her) and how it took her almost 15 years to be able to talk about it. It helped. A lot. And so did the Xanax, of course. Calmed me down in around 10 minutes.
I also happened to tell my friend T. I've know T since high school, we've worked together since college (both before and after nursing school), and we were in nursing school together. She also knows my rapist. And I told her about it. I felt I needed to - another way to air out those bones. And she was pissed - though not shocked - by what he had done.
Here's the thing: it felt better to tell some trusted people. It lightens the load. And it's part of working through everything I'm feeling now. And the rest of my day went very well - I was in good spirits, my head above the water for once.
Also?
My dog has bad gas.
Thought you should know.