I'm not sure if I've posted about this particular topic before. So I'm gonna give some background info first:
You all probably know that my mom is an alcoholic. Has been one for as long as I can remember. I have vivid, negative memories of my childhood, being the caretaker often for my brother and my mom. Lots of baggage with this. I'm ACOA (adult child of an alcoholic). This brings numerous characteristics of behavior and maladapted coping (which goes along awesomely with being bipolar . . . that was sarcasm by the way). (I should also point out that she is in complete denial about her drinking. She could be pouring vodka in a cup, drink from it, and tell you that she doesn't drink. I'm not exaggerating)
I've been diagnosed with chronic PTSD because of my upbringing. My mom is a huge trigger for me (my therapist and I have been working on this intensely for the last month and a half or so). For the longest time I refused to talk to her after about 6pm. Why? Because she would most likely be drunk and I can't handle that. Talking to my mom when she's been drinking - even if she's not drunk - has a decidedly negative effect on me. Anger, frustration, helplessness, fear, guilt, and shame all flood me. I overreact emotionally, which can send me into a bipolar mood swing. That's not good.
While trying to work through all this in therapy she's become even more of a trigger for me. So that even getting a text from her (no matter what time of day) gives me all of those negative emotions and fills me with anxiety. My therapist suggested I do something drastic - cut my mom out completely. No texts, no phone calls, no emails. If I don't have to constantly battle my negative feelings, perhaps I could work more on recovery. Makes sense.
And was very inviting.
So I sent my mom an email outlining the restrictions. No contact unless I initiate it. If she wanted to know how I was doing she could enquire through my hubby (which he had said he was okay with). I explained why. I let her know that this wasn't permanent, but that I didn't know how long it would last. She sent me an email back letting me know how much this hurt her (a guilt tactic, which she had used often growing up - I have no doubt that this decision hurt her but she lays it on thick). She said she would honor my wishes.
It was going well for a couple of weeks. I was a little more relaxed. I'm dealing with a lot of guilt over this as I'm her daughter - I should be talking to her and checking up on her and being what a daughter is supposed to be (which my therapist told me I need to get over - he pointed out that I felt this way partly because I always felt that way growing up - I had an obligation to her).
And then last night happened.
She texted my hubby and let him know that she had gone to the hospital as she thought she had a blood clot (she had surgery for a broken ankle 8? 10? 12? weeks ago and was in a cast and then a walking boot). She told him that she was home and okay and it wasn't a clot (whatever was going on was caused because she wasn't following her physician's orders and hadn't been wearing the walking boot like she was supposed to). She stated in her text that all she needed was me and that I wasn't there for her and it was bullshit (I read the text). All those icky, negative feels? They came flooding back. My sense of guilt and shame overwhelmed me. I didn't know what to do. I mean, she's my mom and I love her and I want to know that she's alright. But at the same time the thought of talking to her filled me with dread.
After much trepidation I decided to text her. Asked her how she was doing as hubby had told me about the trip to the hospital. It was a very brief exchange of texts. I told her if something major like this happened that she could contact me - I'm not heartless, I'm just trying to care for me and heal.
The exchange of texts, the feelings that flooded me . . . it was overwhelming. The hour of deliberation and texts left me completely exhausted. Literally. It was only 8pm and I was ready for bed I was so exhausted. How fucking stupid is that? And equally disturbing is that no one can really understand that.
How having to wrestle with my feelings and my mom can take everything out of me and leave me empty.
It is so. Fucking. Stupid.
I didn't tell my hubby that last night. I don't think he'd understand (sorry). And the not understanding coupled with the guilt and shame I was feeling would have really put me over the top. I was already fragile enough last night.
I fucking hate this.
Today I'm conflicted. I feel so guilty that I think I should just reinstate contact with my mom. Not because I want to - but because I feel obligated to do so. My therapist would very strongly advise against this (as does my best friend). I need to get myself healthy. I shouldn't engage with my mom until she's not such a strong trigger. I'm siding with no contact. I need time.
I just hate how shitty I feel.
Showing posts with label triggers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label triggers. Show all posts
Friday, September 5, 2014
Thursday, August 14, 2014
The thing is . . .
. . . I really kinda feel like shit. Super irritable and depressed. There isn't a day again where I don't break down sobbing. I don't want to exist - if I could just sleep until I felt better. But the scary thing? I'm moving into the "I don't want to live stage". That's not a good place to be. I'm so tired of feeling like crap. And thinking that this will go on for as long as I'm alive . . . well, that's daunting and depressing in and of itself.
I had therapy on Tuesday and M had me do an exercise where I pretended my mom was sitting across from me and I had to tell her what I was feeling. I kinda failed at it. I was so emotionally drained that I couldn't really do the exercise justice. I want a do over. He also gave me homework of sorts: to cut all communication with my mom. Now, she's a pretty big trigger for me and even getting a text with her fills me with anger and icky feels. M is worried about my current emotional/mental state and said that contact with her is probably too much right now.
I tend to agree. I've said for a long time it would be so much easier if she were dead. Which is a horrible thing to think - trust me, I know (though M said it's a very common thing for ACOA's to think of their alcoholic parent). So I decided that yes, cutting contact for now would be good for me.
Thinking about that conversation fills me with dread. Hubby suggested that I write her an email outlining everything and then have a very brief conversation with her. I convey everything more eloquently through the written word and I can avoid a confrontation that way. It'll still be hard because I know it will "break her heart" (those would be her words, not mine). And that will make me feel guilty (M says I need to get over my guilt). And my mom really isn't a bad person - she's not this abusive monster or anything. She's just an alcoholic ( a very functional one) who happens to be an extremely big trigger for me.
I really hope she doesn't take this too hard.
I had therapy on Tuesday and M had me do an exercise where I pretended my mom was sitting across from me and I had to tell her what I was feeling. I kinda failed at it. I was so emotionally drained that I couldn't really do the exercise justice. I want a do over. He also gave me homework of sorts: to cut all communication with my mom. Now, she's a pretty big trigger for me and even getting a text with her fills me with anger and icky feels. M is worried about my current emotional/mental state and said that contact with her is probably too much right now.
I tend to agree. I've said for a long time it would be so much easier if she were dead. Which is a horrible thing to think - trust me, I know (though M said it's a very common thing for ACOA's to think of their alcoholic parent). So I decided that yes, cutting contact for now would be good for me.
Thinking about that conversation fills me with dread. Hubby suggested that I write her an email outlining everything and then have a very brief conversation with her. I convey everything more eloquently through the written word and I can avoid a confrontation that way. It'll still be hard because I know it will "break her heart" (those would be her words, not mine). And that will make me feel guilty (M says I need to get over my guilt). And my mom really isn't a bad person - she's not this abusive monster or anything. She's just an alcoholic ( a very functional one) who happens to be an extremely big trigger for me.
I really hope she doesn't take this too hard.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Losing my shit
I wanted to try and describe how it feels when I get overwhelmed. Since it happens so often now.
It starts with a feeling of dread. My heart and stomach drop. I know what's coming, what feeling, what experience. I know what to expect. My heart starts to speed up, slowly at first. It beats hard and fast and I can feel each beat in my temples. In my whole body. I start to sweat a little. Not much, just a little. Everything is in slow motion now. My world will come crashing down.
I feel myself sink to my knees, shoulders slumped as it happens, as my world falls. And fall it does. Glass flies as the windows shatter, their cacophony almost as loud as my self defeating thoughts. Plaster and drywall rain down on me. There is water, water falling from somewhere that I can't see, to add to the mess. Right in front of me, like a movie projector, is everything I love and care for. My friends and family. My husband. My son. They fade as they're pulled away from my outstretched arms, forever out of my reach. I'm rocking now. I place my hands over my ears and scream. Silently, I scream.
Everything starts to go dark. I look around at the encroaching blackness and panic. Not again. Not like this. I tell myself that I'm fine, everything is fine, I'll be fine. The rocking quickens and I still have my hands over my ears. I shut my eyes against the darkness and continue with my mantra. I slow my breathing as the anxiety and dread build. Breathing slowly, thinking of my family, breathing slowly, thinking of my family.
There may be tears, there may not be. There may be anger, there may not be. There may be a rage so great that I feel compelled to add more destruction to my already crumbling world. There may not be. There may be despair and sorrow so great that I completely break down sobbing, knowing that I can't possibly go on. There may not be.
Slowly, eventually, my mantra starts to work. Slowly, eventually, my heart rate slows, the rocking stops, and I can look around at the destruction. The water is still falling, but so lightly that it's a mist. Debris lays strewn everywhere, piles of glass and drywall and hopes and dreams. I stand in a daze, that dread still there.
Because now I have to clean up.
I wring out my shirt as best I can and pick shards of glass and flakes of paint and drywall from my hair. I have to push on now. I have to push on and clean up and pretend and act like this never happened. That I'm okay. Because I have to be okay, don't I?
That, my friends, is how I feel when I get overwhelmed. Every time I get overwhelmed. Which may be several times a day. Now, obviously I don't drop to my knees and scream and rock (well, sometimes I actually close my eyes and rock, but I don't scream, let's be honest). But this is how I feel. The feeling may only last a few minutes - boom! Here and gone. It may last a few hours. Or the initial feeling may last only a few minutes but the cleanup may take all day.
It's not fun. And it's not all that easy. It takes it's toll on me. By the evening I feel emotionally and mentally drained. If it's a good day, where these episodes are few and last only a few minutes, I'm doing pretty okay. I'm mostly okay. On a bad day, like yesterday, I'm down and withdrawn, easy to anger and exhausted.
I have a feeling that this is how I'll be from now on. That if I'm not in acute crisis (ie depression, mania or mixed), this is how I'll be.
And on a good day, that's fine.
But on a bad day . . .
And there are triggers. There are definitely triggers that make this all worse. Some of them I know, some are completely random. And a lot of them are unavoidable. So I'm always on guard, alwyas on alert. Always monitoring.
It's pretty awesome.
It starts with a feeling of dread. My heart and stomach drop. I know what's coming, what feeling, what experience. I know what to expect. My heart starts to speed up, slowly at first. It beats hard and fast and I can feel each beat in my temples. In my whole body. I start to sweat a little. Not much, just a little. Everything is in slow motion now. My world will come crashing down.
I feel myself sink to my knees, shoulders slumped as it happens, as my world falls. And fall it does. Glass flies as the windows shatter, their cacophony almost as loud as my self defeating thoughts. Plaster and drywall rain down on me. There is water, water falling from somewhere that I can't see, to add to the mess. Right in front of me, like a movie projector, is everything I love and care for. My friends and family. My husband. My son. They fade as they're pulled away from my outstretched arms, forever out of my reach. I'm rocking now. I place my hands over my ears and scream. Silently, I scream.
Everything starts to go dark. I look around at the encroaching blackness and panic. Not again. Not like this. I tell myself that I'm fine, everything is fine, I'll be fine. The rocking quickens and I still have my hands over my ears. I shut my eyes against the darkness and continue with my mantra. I slow my breathing as the anxiety and dread build. Breathing slowly, thinking of my family, breathing slowly, thinking of my family.
There may be tears, there may not be. There may be anger, there may not be. There may be a rage so great that I feel compelled to add more destruction to my already crumbling world. There may not be. There may be despair and sorrow so great that I completely break down sobbing, knowing that I can't possibly go on. There may not be.
Slowly, eventually, my mantra starts to work. Slowly, eventually, my heart rate slows, the rocking stops, and I can look around at the destruction. The water is still falling, but so lightly that it's a mist. Debris lays strewn everywhere, piles of glass and drywall and hopes and dreams. I stand in a daze, that dread still there.
Because now I have to clean up.
I wring out my shirt as best I can and pick shards of glass and flakes of paint and drywall from my hair. I have to push on now. I have to push on and clean up and pretend and act like this never happened. That I'm okay. Because I have to be okay, don't I?
That, my friends, is how I feel when I get overwhelmed. Every time I get overwhelmed. Which may be several times a day. Now, obviously I don't drop to my knees and scream and rock (well, sometimes I actually close my eyes and rock, but I don't scream, let's be honest). But this is how I feel. The feeling may only last a few minutes - boom! Here and gone. It may last a few hours. Or the initial feeling may last only a few minutes but the cleanup may take all day.
It's not fun. And it's not all that easy. It takes it's toll on me. By the evening I feel emotionally and mentally drained. If it's a good day, where these episodes are few and last only a few minutes, I'm doing pretty okay. I'm mostly okay. On a bad day, like yesterday, I'm down and withdrawn, easy to anger and exhausted.
I have a feeling that this is how I'll be from now on. That if I'm not in acute crisis (ie depression, mania or mixed), this is how I'll be.
And on a good day, that's fine.
But on a bad day . . .
And there are triggers. There are definitely triggers that make this all worse. Some of them I know, some are completely random. And a lot of them are unavoidable. So I'm always on guard, alwyas on alert. Always monitoring.
It's pretty awesome.
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