Shut (130)

Lately I just want everything shut. I want to shut my brain up, I want to shut my mouth for good, I want to shut away all the memories, all the body sensations, all the connections. I want to shut myself away, and I think that I should be shut away, locked up, because I must be completely crazy.

Tonight shame has roared. It’s been so incredibly noisy, shouting in my ear and harming my friendship. It’s telling me everything that is wrong with me. Going over and over the constant list that is being replayed both visually behind my eyes, and audibly…that list of everything that people would change about me, if they just had the chance. Everything wrong with me.

I want to shut shame up. That’s really what I need, and somewhere in the back of my head, I know that. And yet, he gets too loud, I can’t hear past it, and then all I think is that I want to be shut in a coffin, 6ft under, where everything would just be so much easier. I wish I hadn’t thrown all of the razors out of my house to stop myself self-harming, because I know that it would just help lately.

 

*****

Pocketcanadian says to me sometimes that she needs to take care of her, because nobody else will. And that makes my shame roar. What I hear is that I am not a good person in her life, that I don’t take care of her, that I just hurt her and am not gentle. It feels like her shutting me out, the biggest shove, a ‘you’re not safe pb, get away from me’. I know that isn’t what she’s saying now, as I write this…. she’s quite reasonably and rightly saying that we need to take care of ourselves first, because we’re the only ones that know what we need and can see to those needs. And yet it still feels like a shut door. I still can’t completely rid the shame of hearing it. I get scared of being shut out, it sends my little one spinning.

*****

Recently, I can’t remember if it was in a dream or if it was during the early hours of the morning where I wasn’t asleep, but you almost feel like you are, as your brain is going over things, imagining scenarios in that dream-like state, but I was thinking about how I’d like to just go mute. Shut up entirely. I mean, I’m not very chatty anyway, I’m very shy. I barely talk even in therapy, and something feels so restful about not talking anymore, like I used to do when I was really little. I think I’m just so tired of the talking sometimes. It doesn’t exactly take loads of energy, and yet somehow it really feels like it does.

*****

And I just want to shut myself away and hide from the world, from my family. From everybody but the very few that are special and so important to me, like pc.

Tired (122)

I am tired. I walk around looking lovely (sarcastic) with bags under my eyes that I’m too lazy to cover with make up. I am clumsy and stupid and forget things, and I need my 2+ cups of coffee in the morning to try to resemble a normal person.

I’m not really the best person for going to sleep to begin with, I’m more of a night owl… Early mornings, no thank you. But even when I do go to bed at a decent time, getting to sleep is a whole different ball game…

There is the just lying there, no matter how shattered you are, brain going haywire, refusing entirely to allow you to sleep. Making you more anxious and more angry as the night turns to day and you’re still bloody awake.

Or, maybe you do fall asleep, but your deep sleep for the entire night of actually okay sleep resembles 14 whole minutes (fitbit doesn’t even grace that with a percentage because its so bad).

Or, you fall asleep but you’re woken up covered in sweat from disgusting or mean dreams. My more than a decade long recurring dream of being hunted down and raped after they’ve murdered my family…. Now that one im definitely tired of.

Or, an all time favourite (though thankfully rarer these days) of waking up somewhere in your house in the pitch black after sleepwalking, and not being able to work out where you are, (trust me it’s surprisingly harder than you think it is, and involves plenty of bruises the following day), and having a panic attack when you can’t figure it out.

Or, a CSA special… Trying to go to bed, but feeling young and scared and unable to shut off the trauma state. Of watching the door, listening out for footsteps. Normally taking place on a day your body is already going crazy with memories. Sensations that you can’t get off your body, uncomfortable or painful or just plain gross. Those nights are always so much fun.

And of course not sleeping well is definitely not unique. It goes for everyone from time to time, or even frequently. Everyone has those nights or spells of bad sleep. But im tired of being tired now, id love to wake up actually feeling rested for once…. Wouldn’t that be bloody amazing? And how much difference would it make to all the other stuff? Actually feeling rested? Lots, I bet.

*****

And there are lots of other things I’m tired of…. My parents, my family, my job, my brain, my hurts and all the feelings I really actually don’t want to feel. I’m tired of having crappy days, I’m tired of not getting what I need, I’m tired of life right now, dramatic as that absolutely is. And it’s a crappy time of year for me, but seriously, I’m over it already. Give me a lovely warm summer already, I beg you.

one hundred & twenty two: tired

oh god. this word.

i don’t know how many times i’ve sobbed about being tired in a therapy session. and i’ve meant it in terms of the hundreds of nights of stolen sleep, the physical exhaustion of my ridiculous on-call work life, but mostly, in the aching fatigue that comes from dealing with the fallout of incest and trauma. with battling parents and a brother who deny it happened in the first place, with a mother who thinks i’ve been hypnotized and a father who thinks my lesbian man-hating therapist planted ideas in my head (never mind that she is quite heterosexual and incredibly man-loving, never mind that i’m not a brainless blob that believes everything thrown her way). when i sob that i am tired, it is of the isolation, the shock, that this is in fact my life. i am tired of knowing this stuff, of carrying it. i don’t know when it will stop hurting. i don’t know how it ever could.

i spent much of my life convinced that there was something wrong with me. that all the labels and medications were to try and name and then fix the inherent brokennness that was me. and i was a fierce advocate for mental health issues, i disclosed often and in varying detail my journeys of depression, anxiety and panic disorder, because i hoped that i could help others (and myself?) by staring it in the face. i took full ownership of the wrongness of my neurotransmitters and hormones, medicated them, attempted to forgive my brain for its idiosyncrasies, and just tried to live the best life a damaged, sick, crazy person could live.

until remembering sexual abuse in my childhood, at the hands of two members of my family, turned it all upside down.

and over these past three years, i wished, so many times, i could just go back, that i could just unknow it all and go back. i have been gutted, time and again, by how difficult it is to share the responsibility for how i am; have been razed to the ground by the realization that the inherent wrongness i have always felt was a fucking lie, planted in me by the people meant to love me most. it is exhausting to flinch at the word family. it is exhausting to be reminded, with every interaction with my parents, that i am unseen, unheard, unknown. it is excruciating to nearly drown in the waves of abandonment, terror, and shame, and realize that this is how it felt, this is how little pocketcanadian felt all the time back then.

she wasn’t crazy. she wasn’t sick. she was damaged, oh yes. she was so so hurt, she was made to know things that she never should have, she was unsafe in her home, she was the receptacle for so much shame.

and unlearning all the things that were inserted into me, when i was too little to know different? is a full-time, full-body job. there is no amount of sleep that can remedy this sort of tired. there is just time, i am told. the passage of minutes, and days, and years, becoming accustomed to this new reality, to this identity, to these new labels. hoping that the sting eases. hoping that i can build a new life: of safety, of love, of compassion and gentleness, and that it can be enough.

Freedom

Ugh.

*****

Ugh some more. I don’t feel free, that’s why this word is crap. To any onlooker, I absolutely am. And fuck, get over yourself pocketbrit, first world problems right here…compared to so many people out there you are so damned free and should be grateful, not here, moaning, yet again.

*****

But actually, screw that too, I’m reflecting on a word, that’s all, and like I said, I don’t feel free. I feel trapped in a life that I don’t seem to be able to have control over; I know, logically, that I do make many minor decisions all the time which place me in control of my life (which therefore should infer freedom, and yet, it really doesn’t feel that way). I don’t feel like I am able to know what to do with my life, I don’t feel like I am capable of risking things and giving things a go if there’s a potential for failure. I don’t feel like I can escape my current reality of remaining in the town where my parents live, working in their business and seeing them regularly. Isn’t that so weak? Seriously pb, grow up…if you want to do differently, do it. Nobody else can do it for you and you can’t blame anybody else for not doing it yourself.

But its not really about that…I absolutely am a coward in ways, but this is trauma, this is attachment, and screwed up family dynamics, and the recent aftermath of telling my family (sort of…all they’ve made me do is keep it a secret from other family members that they consider more important…my abuser being one of them). This is the fact that the family I belong to, the only family I have, and perhaps the only family I will ever have, want to keep me quiet, want to ignore my pain, push it aside, tell me its no big deal, that he matters more. And I feel trapped. My emotional freedom perhaps, (at some point in the future, and likely not ever fully emotionally free), lies in leaving them and living a life where I am not forced to keep the most vile family secrets. And yet, that’s a life without a family…maybe that’s freedom, but what does that involve giving up? Won’t I feel so alone? Won’t I miss all the good times? Won’t I think of them all the time? Won’t I wish I hadn’t given them up? Won’t I wish I could take it all back, just for one moment of feeling like I belong somewhere, even if I’m only allowed to belong if I keep my mouth firmly shut? But also, do I even really have those things by staying?

*****

I also don’t feel free in my body. Especially lately. My one body feels like it’s containing several people. Several people that I’ve on and off acknowledged are there for a couple of years, but that’s 98% off and only 2% on until recently. Now it’s about 85% on and all I want to do is revert it back to that comfortable 2%. I have an image in my head of an old wooden trunk in a loft….i’ve picked up my wee one and put her in there, upset though she always fucking is. I’ve told my young one to get in, she doesn’t talk much, and she’s just gone in, eyes watching me. My sullen, ‘told-you-so’, sarcastic, detached, scary one gets in on her own accord, like she expects it and is rolling her eyes and shaking her head, and seething at me, for never stepping up and helping, for always being a disappointment. And finally I scream and shout at my teen, who argues back and rages. She won’t get in, not without me physically forcing her. And that’s exactly what I want to do. I want to get her in there and push her back, and put my foot on her and hold her down if I have to and put all my weight on the lid of the trunk to try to close it fucking shut, even though it can’t really fit all these stupid people to begin with. I want to scream back at them, to tell them to get lost. That I want nothing at all to do with them. I want them gone. I want them dead. And I’m meant to be the one in control, the one that gets by and lives our life, and is functioning. Not so functioning, is it, to be scared and spinning because I can’t shut my brain up?

So, this doesn’t feel like freedom. This feels like being locked in a cage with people I really don’t like and don’t want to have to interact with, yet are coming right up to me and crying/raging/talking incessantly in my ear. I want quiet, but I can’t have it.

fifty-eight: endings

in the wordpress app at the beginning of a fresh new unwritten post, it always prompts, ‘share your story here’…and tonight, with this word, seeing that just made me so unbelievably sad. like disproportionately sad, half a box of kleenex sad.

i hope to be able to explain all of that soon but tonight, i can’t. i can’t touch this word and i can’t share my story here. it’s all a bit beyond my capabilities at the moment.

i know we have about three whole readers of this blog but if the three of you could please just send care or mojo or fairy dust or good vibes or anything similar this way, i’d be so so grateful. it’s hard right now over here, and i need all the help I can get.