Welcome!!! Please, if you are new here, READ THIS FIRST!!! Thank You!!!

Thank you for visiting. Content MAY BE TRIGGERING ESPECIALLY FOR THOSE WHO HAVE EXPERIENCED ABUSE, STRUGGLE WITH SELF-INJURY, SUICIDE, DEPRESSION OR AN EATING DISORDER. Contains graphic descriptions of suicidal thoughts, self-injury and emotional, physical and sexual abuse. Do not read further if you are not in a safe place. If you are triggered, please reach out to your support system, a mental health professional or call 911.

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Disclaimer: Although I have worked with persons with mental illness for twenty years, I do not have a Master's Degree or a license. This is not meant to be a substitute for mental health care or treatment. Please obtain professional assistance from the resources listed on the right of the page, if needed. And call 911 if you or someone is in immediate danger.

A key word that you will see:

Fragmentation: a mental process where a person becomes intensely emotionally focused on one aspect of themselves, such as “I am angry” or “no one loves me,” to the point where all thoughts, feelings and behavior demonstrate this emotional state, in which, the person does not or is unable to take into account the reality of their environment, others or themselves and their resources. This is a term that my therapist and I use and is on the continuum of dissociation.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

"Weird Al" Yankovic - It's All About The Pentiums!!

This is dedicated to my enginerd (engineer combined with nerd) who is working today!! I don't know, but he seems a little bewildered by my laughter about this one...scary thing is that I understood the song!! Hope you enjoy it!!

Friday, July 30, 2010

"Friend of a Wounded Heart" ~ Wayne Watson

Back in 1987 when this song first came out, I had just started therapy.  This song made me burst into tears as I thought about how I made people think that I was okay when I was anything but okay.  I found that the lyrics resonated with me and that it was like a huge hug from Jesus.  The video isn't very good, but the lyrics are below.

Smile, make them think you're happy
Lie, and say that things are fine.
And hide that empty longing that you feel
Don't ever show it, just keep your heart concealed.

Why are the days so lonely?
I wonder where, where can a heart go free?
And who will dry the tears that no one sees?
There must be someone to share your silent dreams.

Caught like a leaf in the wind
Looking for a friend, where can you turn?
Whisper the words of a prayer
And you'll find Him there, arms open wide, love in His eyes.

Jesus, He meets you where you are.
Oh, Jesus, He heals your secret scars
All the love you're longing for is Jesus
The friend of a wounded heart.

Joy, comes like the the morning
Hope, deepens as you grow
and peace, beyond the reaches of your soul,
Comes blowing through you, for love has made you whole.

Once like a leaf in the wind
Looking for a friend, where could you turn?
You spoke the words of a prayer
And you found Him there, arms open wide, love in His eyes.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Hidden Pieces: Mother's Abuse


Well, I made a decision after much thought and prayer, I decided to begin retelling what I wrote in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

Grandpa always told me it was my job to take care of my mother and that is exactly what she demanded from me. However, I felt like I was going crazy with her and I was really terrified of her. Sometimes, I was fearful that she would kill me. She would seem to suddenly become full of rage, out of control and begin taking it out on me by yelling at me, screaming at me, blaming me and hitting me. I was attacked and assaulted by her slapping me in the face, so hard, to bruise her hand or knock me off of a chair while I was dusting, hitting me on the back/shoulders/head with her closed hand and kicking me. With the dusting, I just waited until she was done and got back on the chair and started dusting again. Never cried, said anything to her, never talked about it and like most things pretended that it never happened. [I do the same thing now, but am getting better about expressing myself and a bit better about not ignoring myself and feelings...tough lesson when that was what I used for so long to cope.]

The first time that I really remember my mother beating me was while we were with living with Grandma and Grandpa and she came home and was angry. I was about three years old. When she got to the bedroom door, where I was inside coloring, she immediately slapped me in the face and then starting hitting me with her fists on my shoulders and back areas. I was so surprised because she had never done that before.

 Then, she took a wooden stick off the window sill and without any clothing on my bottom half began to hit me over and over again on my bottom and the back of my legs. I still didn’t say anything or cry even though it hurt. It felt like she was trying to really hurt or injure me, which is exactly what I say I feel like doing when I fragment. [I have internalized her projection that I am bad and need to be punished.  My self injury is a result of this and those are some of the thoughts that run through my head.]  The pain was really awful and seemed to radiate all over my body.

During the time, she kept screaming at me that I was “the reason that she couldn’t find a job, needed to find one and that everything was my fault.” I didn’t quite understand, but knew that I was bad and to blame for the problems. This event was also the last time that I was excited as the time approached for her to come home. Previously, I was always happy when she was going to come home. From this point on, I became increasingly anxious when the time came as I did not know what type of mood she was going to be in or what was going to happen to me. [I learned to listen to how she drove into the drive way, the way she closed the care door, her footsteps, her opening the door to the house, walking in, and her face.  A bit hypervigilant.]

“Lost fantasy that she was happy to see me and wanted to be with me.” I completely lost trust and a sense of safety from my mother. From that point forward, she was really unstable and unpredictable and would rage at me verbally and physically. I felt absolutely trapped and really confused and terrified of her. I remember trying to hide when I heard her come home in an angry mood. In my head, I just kept saying, “I need to disappear…go away, just go away…disappear.” [I still tell myself this which at times can mean suicidal thoughts that have always seemed to have been with me even before I could verbalize it.]

Of course, she found me and in my head I was saying, “Mommy, don’t, please don’t…I’ll be good, I promise…no not again…what did I do this time.” At first, it was maybe one time per week and no one, but maybe my aunt or uncle was home…I don’t know if they heard or not. I certainly didn’t make a sound or talk about it. Then, it was at least two to three times per week.

Sometimes, on the weekends because she wanted to go out with her friends and she made sure that I knew I was interfering in her life and that she did not want to have to stay home with me. Other times, she would just take off and leave me with whoever was at home…didn’t ask them, just took off. (I thought she was leaving because I was bad. I now know that this is not true, but that was how I felt then.) I know that she loved me, but I never really felt like she loved me or was a source of comfort. I felt like I was never good enough for her to love me. Grandpa, my uncle and definitely my aunt was where I went to for comfort. I know that my mother is really angry with me for shutting her out which she says, “I’ve done my whole life.” Thing is that she never was safe to let in…even now which just makes me sad. I had to disconnect from me in order to stay attached to her.

[From what I now know, her rages have to do with her projections that I am all bad or all good.  I either meet all her need or I meet none of them which is a classic borderline personality trait.  At this point or before, the thoughts of dying, being bad and being so hypervigilant became a way of life.  This tells me that my mother is really sick and was not equipped to take care of a child. My family has told me that when she would go out with her friends that I would cry for her to at least say goodbye or reassure and comfort me.  My grandparents would get into arguments with her about her going out too much and just wanting her to come hug me or something as I was crying for her.  My aunt ended up comforting me...I really thank God for her.]

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Hidden Pieces: My Father


Well, I made a decision after much thought and prayer, I decided to begin retelling what I wrote in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

During this time and through elementary school, I saw my father sporadically. There were always arguments when he would come pick me up and, often times, my mother’s anger would be taken out on me. Or I would end up comforting and telling her that “I understood that he is busy and that it is okay that he doesn’t see me.” I could never talk about him with anyone in my family as it would always make someone angry, so I just stopped bringing him up and stopped being tearful. Some of the visits with my father were overnight. Always before a visit I would be anxious about would he cancel, how would my mother take her anger out on me, he felt like a stranger, I was afraid of him, and wanted to see him. I was really confused. I really wanted someone to just listen to me, accept me and comfort me like I comforted my mother.

During a couple of visits with my father, I remember having him become really, really angry with me to the point where he pulled my pants and underwear down and beat me on my bottom and the back of my thighs with his belt…didn’t cry or make a sound. The first incident, I was probably around four and had spilled my Cheerios on the floor. Immediately, began telling him that I was sorry and that I would clean it up. I kept repeating it. But, I still remember the look in his face and knew that I was in a lot of trouble. I felt like a rag doll as he grabbed my arm, pulled my clothing off, and threw me face down on the black leather couch. I remember the smell and feel of it on my face and uncovered body. I remember hearing his taking his belt off and hearing it hit my body and feeling the impact and the radiating pain. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and was going to die. When it was over, I got dressed and I just quietly began cleaning up the mess then eating breakfast like nothing happened. I was really terrified and it hurt to sit down. On another occasion, I was probably around seven…this time I was swinging the doors back and forth.

My father was really hypercritical of me. He also had some OCD issues that he expected the same detail in things that he did, from me. He criticized my mother in what she was teaching me and with just the way that I was. He criticized how I spoke, had my hair done, brushed my teeth, walked, that I spoke too much, how I ate, how much I ate, my grades, how I rode a bike…basically, seems like everything. He slapped me in the face frequently too if I was doing something improperly according to his standards. I remember my hand being slapped suddenly, when he felt I was using the chopsticks incorrectly and because I was supposed to eat only one french fry at a time…I was eating two. He always made promises that he was “going to call every week and see me every other week,” but it never happened. Not a telephone call, not a visit, not a card…nothing. The contact I did have was initiated by my mother who didn’t ask me first. I last had contact with him in sixth grade and at high school graduation.

I stopped trusting what he told me and hoping that things would ever be different. Never could talk to anyone about it…kept it all inside…just made everyone angry to bring him up. The last visit I did not cry at all, but I felt like I was so close to crying…no one ever asked how the visit went, so I never told anyone. I learned to stop talking and not to let anyone in. Also, I stopped asking questions and tried to obtain information from other sources. I always assumed that each visit with him would be my last. Somehow, I knew that after this visit, I wasn’t going to have any contact with him again.

[It was to be my last contact of any type with my father.  My conclusion was that everyone abandons me (borderline personality feature).  I actually recently was in a heated discussion over this issue because I have always said that "he slowly drifted out of my life.  My therapist is trying to make me realize that he actually abandoned me.

Due to this and my mother's abandonment, I have insecure attachments at best.  This is one of the borderline features which effects how friendships and romantic relationships can be so stormy.  One wants to be close, but one doesn't trust enough to be close.  This puts others in a "I love you. Please don't leave me to I hate you. Go away."  This is preemptive in that one leaves a relationship by making it all bad before one has a chance to be abandoned.  I have worked through these issues with my therapist and husband, but it still difficult.

I thank God for my therapist and husband.  Also, for my Grandparents, my aunt and uncle for they were my primary positive attachments especially my Grandpa and aunt. Grandpa served as a father for me and my aunt emotionally was my mother.  If it were not for all of these people, I am positive that I would have succeed in killing myself.]

To be continued...

Monday, July 26, 2010

Hidden Pieces ~ infancy


Well, I made a decision after much thought and prayer, I decided to begin retelling what I wrote in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

I was an abused child and the abuse started at a very early age, infancy or earlier. From the earliest time I can remember, I was in fear for my life and thought of dying or killing myself on a daily basis. I lived in terror all the time until early adulthood. I experienced neglect, emotional, physical and sexual abuse. Many may not believe my story, but it is my story and it is the truth. Although, sometimes, I have difficulty believing it myself, but it is what I have been reliving and piecing together my past since January 2004 through flashbacks, therapy and from what others have told me. [including family] This is very difficult to write as it definitely makes the truth more real as I created an alternative reality in order to just survive. My mother has a borderline personality disorder, my father was very strict, ridged and narcissistic, my step-father and his father were sadistic and narcissistic. Everyone was so unpredictable, full of rage and there was no real escape.

My parents married because my mother was pregnant with me. (For many years, I thought that it was my fault, but no longer believe this is true) and definitely no one was happy that they were getting married especially them. [When looking at my mother's wedding pictures, with my father's side and him being cut out, which is such a borderline action, my therapist and I noted that they seemed like they couldn't stand to be even near each other.] I was blamed for being born, that they had to drop out of college and all the other goals that they were no longer able to accomplish because they had a baby. At first, we lived with my mother and father and his father. There was constant arguing, loud shouting and physical violence toward my mother. Reportedly, both hated my mother and blamed her for getting pregnant. All were extremely ambivalent toward my birth and life. I probably felt hated and wanted to not exist.

Everything was unpredictable, as we would often end up at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Sometimes my father would follow, in anger, then everyone would be yelling and sometimes the police were called. My family all hated him and reports that he was violent, yelled loudly, was too strict with me and ran over the family dog with his car intentionally killing her.

My mother has always told me that I was a quiet baby and didn’t cause any trouble and did not get sick that often. She said, I stopped crying at six months old, which I know is not normal. I have an automatic reflex that when I begin to cry, I stop it usually without anyone noticing. As an infant, no one especially my father’s father could stand my crying. As a result, I was suffocated by having a hand placed over my mouth, a pillow covering my face, pinched on my right thigh and slapped in the face by my mother and father. Feeling like I couldn’t breathe scared and panicked me. I came to associate crying with physical pain or feeling like I was going to die. I also learned not to cry when being attacked or assaulted by someone inflicting pain. Sometimes, I feel some sadness when I think about how old I was. Now, every unexpected sound, loud sound or voice makes me immediately tense and fearful and on edge…sometimes causes panic attacks. It is awful. Sometimes, I think they really hated me and wanted me dead.  My aunt, who is only ten years older than me, and my uncle, who is fifteen years older than me, lived there also and were teenagers. 

[Borderline personality disorder has its roots in early abandonment.  Mine was at least from the time I was born. I was abandoned early by my parents not wanting me, the household environment, my mother walking away from me when I was crying or becoming abusive.  I know that she walked away during the most important time of my development from infancy through being a toddler.  I didn't receive the vital emotional needs that an infant needs to survive and develop a sense of self and security. 

Much of this time period resulted in my hypervigilance, "silent crying," PTSD, depression, anxiety and wanting to die thoughts.  Basically, I have been depressed, anxious and ambivalent about living.  Being ambivalent about almost everything including relationships and with myself is a borderline personality trait.  I internalized my not getting my needs met and the ambivalence that my parent had about my being born.  Infants will often "play dead," when their emotional and physical needs are not met.  So, my primary dilemma is really "to be or not to be."

One happy thing and one of the things that probably contributed to my being alive today is that my Grandpa wanted me and wrote in his "biography" that "it was a great day when Coleen (me) was born."]

To be continued...

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Why Cry?

Why did I post yesterday's depiction of "sadness"?  In therapy, for several weeks I have been dealing with sadness and abandonment issues.  The feelings are there and have been intrusive and I find myself tearing up frequently.  In therapy, I have difficulty crying even after nineteen years of therapy with the same therapist.  Truth is that I don't want to tell myself how I really feel by crying.

I know that I'm ready; otherwise, I would not have brought it up.  We also have been talking about my "silent" crying which really isn't crying at all.  My therapist says that crying is meant to signal distress and needs to be heard...he is there to hear me.  Even though I know that he is right, I still tell him that crying alone or "silently" is enough. Well, he tells me differently...of course, it is his job. Tears just get caught in my chest or throat. 

When I cry, it makes reality more real to me instead of my fantasies that "it wasn't that bad," "I'm just being "too sensitive" and "I've already talked about it, so I don't need to anymore... and the thoughts/defenses go on.

I will get there.  I know I can!!

Don't Cry Out Loud sung by Melissa Manchester

Baby cried the day the circus came to town
'cause she didn't want parades just passin' by her
So she painted on a smile and took up with some clown
While she danced without a net upon the wire
I know a lot about 'er 'cause, you see
Baby is an awful lot like me

Don't cry out loud
Just keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings
Fly high and proud
And if you should fall, remember you almost had it all

Baby saw that when they pulled that big top down
They left behind her dreams among the litter
The different kind of love she thought she'd found
There was nothin' left but sawdust and some glitter
But baby can't be broken 'cause you see
She had the finest teacher-that was me-I told 'er

Don't cry out loud
Just keep it inside and learn how to hide your feelings
Fly high and proud
And if you should fall, remember you almost had it all

Don't cry out loud
Just keep it inside and learn how to hide your feelings
Fly high and proud
And if you should fall, remember you almost made it

Don't cry out loud
Just keep it inside and learn how to hide your feelings
Fly high and proud
And if you should fall, remember you almost had it all

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Monday, July 19, 2010

Where to go from here?

I'm  not sure what I want to do at this point in my blog.  I know that I want to continue it with the same type of content.  However, when it comes to my journal that is a whole different thing.  The next phase of my journal is actually a 70 page story of my life with some graphic details of my abuse.  

I think that I am just afraid to share them because it make them more real and I have to look at them again.  I know that it will be painful and difficult for others to read.  Maybe it is more that it will be painful and difficult for me. 

I started this blog to be honest with my past and who I am and my struggles.  I has been extremely helpful to me.  Do others want to know?  Do I want to know?  If I share, it will not be all at once as that would be really difficult for me and my readers.  But, I feel like I just need to get my story out there...the truth.  What do you think?

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Seez Me?

See I told yoz mirowave haz raditation. My eyez glow.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Thursday, July 15, 2010

I Am Woman or You're So Vain?

Lately, there has been a significant change in my life.  It isn't earth shattering, but I'm doing more girly stuff.  Now, no one would ever call me girly. I wear make up only for special occasions and hide my new cleavage.  I would never wear pink, frilly things, flowers or other things that I describe as girly.  My hair is short, but has an architectural look, artsy of sorts.  People either love it or hate it.  I like to dress nicely, but not girly.

However, since my make up makeover in April, I have been wearing make up several times per week.  I love Bare Escentuals because I don't even know that I am wearing make up.  It is also quite natural looking. I've purchased and used quite a bit of items.

I also have been wearing more what I call frilly stuff.  On the left is the most girly thing that I have worn.  As my husband puts it I am more "womanly" regarding my clothing and make up.

But, then I started wondering is it vanity or womanly.  For me, it is about looking good, but also about having fun.  Does what women do make then vain or just women?  Just my thoughts for today.  What do you think?

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Coffee Spill ?

I know this isn't proper, but I did find the parody of the truthfulness quite funny.  But, it isn't a funny thing.  I think about the HUGE enviromental impact.  But, mostly the people that live and make a living and life with the Gulf.  My heart just aches and I can't find the right words to express my outrage especially at BP and how much I just want to do more to help those effected...right now prayer is what I can offer.

For information regarding the United States Goverment response to the British Petroleum oil spill go to the White House Web Page and for a quick run down go to SodaHead Opinions.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Out Today


Saturday, July 10, 2010

Friday, July 9, 2010

Past Journal Entry: Mother's Hitting ~ Part V


PAST JOURNAL ENTRY: January 26, 2006

...I also keep remembering being startled awake by the vacuum cleaner and my mother screaming my name and for me to come help as  I already was supposed to know.  Sometimes, the door would come flying open and she would be constantly screaming "that I was bad, should know better, was lazy, should have been up, made too much of a mess and need to hurry and help." 

I felt so overwhelmed and had difficulty comprehending as I was startled awake.  When we move the the house, I immediately jumped out of bed and got dressed, but when I was younger it seemed more difficult to understand and to wake up which only seemed to anger her more.  I keep seeing the attachments being thrown at me and I would duck, so I didn't get hit.  I think she was trying to hit me.  It really scared me.  She seemed like someone else.

Kept seeming like she asked me to do things that I didn't understand, but I better give her some attachment.  If I gave her the wrong one, she would say I was stupid and should know the difference between the attachments.  I tried really hard to remember, but couldn't always remember, so I felt really bad and scared.  If I gave her the wrong one she would throw it at me, hen she would start pointing the right one out with the long tubes, but would hit me with the tubes if, but would hit me with the tubes if she was on the chair reaching the corners.  If she was lower sometimes I'd get hit with the tubes or she would just slap me.  Cleaning the bathroom, the floors and dusting usually ended up in me getting hit and almost always being called names and being screamed at when I was younger.  I was easier when I was older.

The whole cleaning the house thing was such a nightmare and I was so confused, terrified and felt bad...I couldn't do anything right...everything was bad.  I was bad...I made too much of a mess.  I should have known more, so that I could help her better.  I shouldn't have been taller and stronger.  I should have gotten up earlier.  I was really terrified and felt so bad and confused and frustrated that I couldn't remember or do what she wanted.  The screaming at me seemed so constant.

I really felt as if I were a bad person all the time from a very young age and terrified at some level from either her, my father or step-father.  And I felt so alone.  It is really painful if I let myself feel some of this .  I'm tired of crying, but I feel like I'm holding back my tears...felt like I did that last night with the tears getting caught in my throat and chest.

I never did cry, scream or say anything.  I just waited for her to stop and just went away.  It feels like I really taught myself not to make a sound, no matter how much emotional or physical pain I was in.  I always felt like I did something wrong or that something really bad was going to happen if I did.  Sometimes, felt like I was a bad person and deserved to die.  I felt really bad on so many different levels.  It is hard for me to think of my mother or step-father as abusive, in my head.  I had to make it something else.  I really feel like crying and like I need to hurt myself or die.

Comments and Observations:  I am really numb, so I don't really have anything to say.  This did continue from maybe six years old to fifteen, at least the physical part of it.  I'm feeling a little sick right now.  This is the last of journal entry dated January 26, 2006 in the morning.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Past Journal Entry: Mother Hitting ~ Part IV


PAST JOURNAL ENTRY:  January 26, 2006

...I also keep remembering the sound of her talking the ruler out of the desk drawer or the piece of wood off the window sill.  She didn't spank me very often, but when she did she was always yelling at me.  It was also embarrassing to have my underwear pulled down and felt so exposed and vulnerable.  She would hit so hard, sometimes I felt like I could pass out or vomit.  Felt so trapped.

Then, it was always painful to pull my underwear and pants up and to sit.  And, it never seemed to make sense to me...often times, I didn't even know if I didn't anything wrong...Actually, I don't think I was.  Usually we were the only ones home.  Again, I didn't cry, scream or say anything...I remember just staring at the silver knobs of the closed cabinets.  She was sooo angry and out of control.  I was afraid that he wasn't going to stop.  She kept yelling at me the whole time.  I think that she stopped when she became tired...often times, I bled. 

When I actually did do something wrong and she did discipline me, she would lecture me and raise her voice unless she was out of control.  When, I became older, she took away privileges.  And when we moved out of my Grandparents and into the duplex and later to a house, she started using a yardstick, but she would also tease or mimic spanking me with it whenever she felt like it...feel like crying now.

Comments and Observations:  I really don't feel like making any comments or observations as I feel as if I'm really disconnecting from this entry.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Past Journal Entry: Mother Hitting ~ Part III


PAST JOURNAL ENTRY ~ January 26, 2006

...And, I keep hearing her open the front door when we lived at Grandpa and Grandma's and her heels coming down the hall and seeing the door fly open and the look on her face really scared me because I'd never seen her that angry with me.  I so much wanted to hide.  Then, I keep seeing her hand coming toward my face and feel her her slapping me.  I wanted so much to scream and to cry out in pain...it hurt so much and I remember the slap pushed me to the ground.  At the time, she was yelling at me it was my fault that she was having problems with finding a job and problems with my father.  It was my fault that she even had to speak with him.  She wished that I never was born as I caused her so many problems. [I was probably about four years old]

After she slapped me and I was completely on the ground, she started to hit me with her fist on my shoulders and back...not very hard though...still I wanted to cry and scream.  I was scared to do so because she would only become more angry.  I was also afraid that someone would hear because I didn't want anyone to yell at her or get angry with her.  Then, we both pretended that nothing happened. [Continued pattern...]

After that incident, she  just stared to slap me frequently when she was angry or frustrated about anything.  I learned to listen very carefully how she opened the doors or walked.  But, I was always terrified of the door opening...not knowing for sure what would happen.  I was really confusing because, her coming home used to be a happy experience. [Her Borderline Personality Disorder in its glory.]

I also keep flashing back to her pushing me to the ground when I tried to comfort her sometimes when she was crying after talking with my father [sometimes it was okay].  I guess, I didn't read her right...she was really angry and I should have left her alone, but at the time, I didn't understand yet when it was okay to approach her and try to comfort and when she was angry and I should leave her alone.

I remember during one of the times that she pushed and then slapped me that I crawled into the corner which was close and covered my heard and she kept yelling at me about how it was my fault that she had to talk to my father and than I caused problems.  She kept slapping my head, shoulders and back, but Grandma intervened and told her to stop.  Then, my aunt came and we colored together.

Comments and Observations: At this point, we were living with my Grandparent's and aunt and uncle following the separation and subsequent divorce of my parents.  The divorce was quite nasty with many police visits, restraining orders, constant screaming, and my aunt's dog being killed after my father ran over her in a rage as he left.  I was probably 3-5 years old.  I'm having difficulty with feeling about this other than I am telling a story to you. DEFENSE.  More tomorrow.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Past Journal Entry: Mother Hitting ~ Part II


PAST JOURNAL ENTRY ~ January 26, 2006 continued

...The last several sessions and remembering what my mother did has been extremely difficult.  It is really hard for me to look at what she did.  I had to make her safe and I have been really surprised by the amount of things I've said and how scared I was.  She really terrified me. 

Also realized that you are a safe place for me and the initially it does feel good to talk, be listened to and comforted.  Also, hard to trust...keep thinking that you are going to turn on me or go away.  But it does feel good to geel safe with you and comforted...I can't seem to do that for myself right now.  There seems to be so much in my head...feels like I need to keep talking even if I'm repeating myself...I never said anything and no one really knew.  [This was a HUGE step for me and more so to verbalize it.]

I keep hearing her yelling at me that, "I'm bad...shouldn't have been born...it is my fault...I should know better...can't do anything right...don't listen enough...you're selfish...dramatic...cause all the problems with Gene and my father...deserve to be punished...never been born... too much trouble...need too much attention...to sensitive...he could kill you...ungrateful...you're bad...and it goes on and on."  Makes me feel really bad or realize how I felt like that all the time.  It is so loud and constant.

Observations and Comments:  Writing this post reminds me of how much verbal abuse I took and internalized.  It still effects me today.  I keep going back to "it wasn't that bad."  Even, now I am trying to go there.  More to come tomorrow.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Past Journal Entry: Mother Hitting ~ Part I


Now, it is time to confuse you again especially new readers.  This blog started out the way that it has been posted for this past year with the addition of my PAST JOURNAL ENTRIES.  This was quite healing as I was able to tell my story to others and receive some feedback.  Well, I am going to start adding my PAST JOURNAL ENTRIES again with my current day comments in [brackets].  All entries are address to my therapist, Gary, and was read to him during my sessions.

PAST JOURNAL ENTRY ~ January 26, 2006


I'm feeling really panicky and overwhelmed this morning.  I again had difficulty trying to get ready...ended up sitting on the floor in the hall tearing up.  Felt like, I didn't know what I was supposed to do.  Fells like I can't face the day...everything feels threatening and overwhelming.  Almost like I'm afraid to leave the house.  Feeling immobilized.  I took my PRNs, so hopefully that will help.  Feels like I just want to cry, wanting to bruise, cut and the suicidal thoughts are loud.   [At this point in time, I am really depressed and working full time.  It is beginning to take a toll on me.]

I haven't slept well for the past couple of nights.  Kept having nightmares and flashbacks.  Although, I only woke up a few times, I awoke in a panic, feeling trapped and like I couldn't escape and about to get slapped. [What doesn't come out during waking hours gets out somehow.  I was beginning to learn that I needed to talk with my therapist about the thoughts and flashbacks that I was having.]

Last night, when you asked if I wanted to talk about the flashbacks, I wasn't sure, but when I left one of my first thoughts was I really wanted to talk.  I get frustrated because I have to fight through so much just to feel, think or talk and sometimes, like last night, I wasn't very successful.

Last night, I felt bad about a couple of things you said.  One, was not feeling safe for Adrian [husband] to come back to bed...felt like you were telling me that I should be able to do so. The other was talking about my mother last.  I took it to mean that the stuff with my father and Gene [step-father] were not important or significant. [Borderline fragmenting.]

Comments and Observations:  This journal entry was quite lengthy, so it is broken up into five parts for the remainder of the week.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Are You a Psychopath?

Your result for The Are You a Psychopath? Test...

The Healthy Mind

You scored 82% empathic, 2% delusional, 94% sociable, and 88% law-abiding!
You don't have any gross defects of character at all. You might have your problems, but for the most part you're simply a normal person and most definitely not a psychopath in any way.

Take The Are You a Psychopath? Test at HelloQuizzy
Apparently, you can fool the test!! LOL!!
Now, you go have some fun!!

Now, go and take the test and comeback and share your results!!

Friday, July 2, 2010

Virgin Skin?

Oh, my!!! More and more people in their 40's, 50's and 60's are getting their first tattoos. It is a growing trend. Much to some adult children, husbands and fathers dismay!!
Why Is My Mother Getting a Tattoo

So what do you have to say about you, your parents or grandparents getting tattoos?

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Dietician Meeting

On Tuesday, I had a meeting with my dietician.  Meeting with her is quite difficult especially as my husband is present.  I do want him to be there as I know that it is healthy for him to be there.  I don't like being honest with her...actually, it is I who doesn't want to hear what is actually happening. 

I am really having difficulty eating the six small meals per day.  To add to it the things, I found out that what I have been marking as a small meal is actually a snack.  Sigh.  I am keeping snacks in the car and a cereal/granola bar in my purse.  Oh, I've been eating them as well.

Due to a variety of reasons, I have not been exercising as much as my goals are.  The frustrating thing is that right before I got sick.  Three days per week, I was running on the treadmill and doing a weights.  The other thing that we are addressing is my cooking twice per month.

During the month period since I met with her, I discovered that I hate the feeling of being hungry.  I feel like my body is betraying me.  I liked it better when I didn't get hungry at all.  CONTROL!!

I think that I wrote, that my psychiatrist and therapist disagree on what is more important.  My psychiatrist told me that he would rather have me focus on exercise instead of cooking.  My therapist told me that he would rather have me cooking than focus on exercise.  I agree with my therapist as it does get me moving about, shopping, interacting with others, gets me out of the house and it is something that I used to REALLY enjoy.

I haven't actually lost anymore weight; however, I still am able to wear clothing that I wasn't able to before.  Also, I am able to wear jewelry that I couldn't before and my watchband and belt are in in the holes to make them smaller.  My husband also says that I feel smaller.  Still I focus on the scale number and my lab results.

I hate this!!! 

Isaiah 49 :15 -16

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