So, after having a total breakdown yesterday and crying my eyes out, I have realized that I really can make this whole law school thing happen. I have come entirely too far to quit now. I will go to law school. I will make it work. I'm feeling so much better. I just really want to have my own life, with my own ability to provide for my own resources. Even if I don't get the loan stuff worked out, I will still make it work. We'll be poor in the mean time, but it will pay off in the end. I know it will.
The other thing that I think keeps me feeling down is the fact that I'm alone. I really wish I had someone with which to share my daily life. I know I've mentioned this before, but I wonder if it's just my fate to be alone. But I really don't think it's anybody's fate to be alone, we are gregarious creatures, right? I also realize that I will be focusing very much on my career right now, maybe it's just not the right time. But it still sucks to be alone. Wouldn't all of this be easier if I weren't alone? But I guess it wouldn't be if that other person was abusive, and that's the only type of person I seem to be able to attract. It's safer to be alone - that's for sure, for both me and my kids.
Several years ago I went to a trauma recovery facility in Florida. This facility focused on helping people reclaim their lives after surviving trauma (obviously). Before this, I had no idea how to separate myself from my abusers or that that was even an option. They helped me to learn how to define myself aside from the abuse I suffered. Abuse victims tend to maintain attachments to their abusers because they held so much power over them. They learned to rely on their abusers to define them which only served to exacerbate the abusers power over their victim. Anyway, if it hadn't been for Florida, I may never have understood the power I had to claim my own life. It's an awesome feeling, sometimes overwhelming, but really exciting. Sometimes, when I dare to allow myself to feel good, I feel like a flower about to bloom, bursting into life. To say it's exciting seems a ridiculous understatement.
Today, I feel a bit of that excitement...
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
wednesday
I know I have a lot to be thankful for. I have great kids, live in a beautiful part of the country. My kids and I are healthy. So why can I not be happy? Why am I struggling with just smiling lately? I am frustrated by the constant struggle to go to school. Now I have issues with getting my financial aid straightened out. I am so tired of the constant struggle with life. And don't think I don't know that everyone has their own struggles. Everyone has their own story.
Today, after I got off the phone with the loan people I started crying. I couldn't collect myself even though I could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs to my front door. I wiped my eyes but knew it was ultimately pointless since my eyes were puffy and red. The two women who stood at my front door immediately saw that I was upset as they said they wanted to share some "words of encouragement" from the scriptures. I immediately told them this was not a good time and turned and walked away from my door. In retrospect I see the irony in the situation. There I was frustrated and crying because I felt so defeated and there at my door was perhaps the answer. When I lived in Texas we were very active in the church, but when we moved up here we did not go back to church. Maybe that was God giving me the answer to my problems. My faith has faltered over the last year. Maybe I need to look at that...
Today, after I got off the phone with the loan people I started crying. I couldn't collect myself even though I could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs to my front door. I wiped my eyes but knew it was ultimately pointless since my eyes were puffy and red. The two women who stood at my front door immediately saw that I was upset as they said they wanted to share some "words of encouragement" from the scriptures. I immediately told them this was not a good time and turned and walked away from my door. In retrospect I see the irony in the situation. There I was frustrated and crying because I felt so defeated and there at my door was perhaps the answer. When I lived in Texas we were very active in the church, but when we moved up here we did not go back to church. Maybe that was God giving me the answer to my problems. My faith has faltered over the last year. Maybe I need to look at that...
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
twice in one day???
Sometimes I just want life to be easy. Sometimes I just want things to work out with little (or no) effort. I feel like everything is a god damned fight. It gets exhausting. Now I have to fix credit issues in order to get my student loans for law school. Shit. Once again I have to go beg for mercy, explaining that I will ALWAYS have crappy credit if I can't go to school to get a decent job. It's kinda like a catch 22, I can't get a better education in order to make more money in order to pay all of my bills properly without the loan that is requiring excellent credit. What the hell???
Anyway, today I did nothing. I sat on my ass and looked for houses and talked to the financial aid office and the credit reporting company. I just want life to be a bit easier. I want to be comfortable, not rich, not fancy, just comfortable!
When I get so frustrated by the difficulty of life, I wonder if I am just grasping for life outside of my "station." Maybe I'm just asking for too much. Maybe I need to concede to the fact that I am a loser and honestly do not deserve anything better than a life of struggle, of difficulty. And all of this just reinforces my recent concession that I am probably going to be alone for the rest of my life, too. Is this my lot in life? To be not only alone, but poor too??? How can that be? Sometimes I feel like I have paid my dues, I have suffered enough. It's my turn to have some happiness, some prosperity and success. It does drive me to fight, to struggle to get what I want, what I feel like I honestly deserve. Or is that just arrogant? I was told once when I was in a trauma recovery facility that just because we (the patients) suffered ridiculous amounts of trauma, that the world doesn't owe us anything. That we are no more deserving of happiness and success than anybody else. But I do. I feel like I am sick of being poor, of being alone, of struggling. I DO deserve to finally have happiness in my life. I DO feel like I have put up with enough shit in my life that I won't put up with it anymore. I WILL fight to get what I want, I WILL get to a point in my life where I don't have to decide between paying my bills and buying groceries for my kids. I am so sick of this!
But what if I can't get the loans I need for school? What am I going to do??? I will totally freak out! I just might lose my mind (again)! It just has to work. I feel like I've come to far for it to fall apart now. I honestly feel like God could not have possibly brought me this far just for it to end now. I've come to damn far...
Ya know, I didn't start this blog just to bitch the whole time. I wanted to talk about this great new life I'm building for myself. I think I thought I could brave being positive, but I haven't really accomplished that yet...
maybe tomorrow...
Anyway, today I did nothing. I sat on my ass and looked for houses and talked to the financial aid office and the credit reporting company. I just want life to be a bit easier. I want to be comfortable, not rich, not fancy, just comfortable!
When I get so frustrated by the difficulty of life, I wonder if I am just grasping for life outside of my "station." Maybe I'm just asking for too much. Maybe I need to concede to the fact that I am a loser and honestly do not deserve anything better than a life of struggle, of difficulty. And all of this just reinforces my recent concession that I am probably going to be alone for the rest of my life, too. Is this my lot in life? To be not only alone, but poor too??? How can that be? Sometimes I feel like I have paid my dues, I have suffered enough. It's my turn to have some happiness, some prosperity and success. It does drive me to fight, to struggle to get what I want, what I feel like I honestly deserve. Or is that just arrogant? I was told once when I was in a trauma recovery facility that just because we (the patients) suffered ridiculous amounts of trauma, that the world doesn't owe us anything. That we are no more deserving of happiness and success than anybody else. But I do. I feel like I am sick of being poor, of being alone, of struggling. I DO deserve to finally have happiness in my life. I DO feel like I have put up with enough shit in my life that I won't put up with it anymore. I WILL fight to get what I want, I WILL get to a point in my life where I don't have to decide between paying my bills and buying groceries for my kids. I am so sick of this!
But what if I can't get the loans I need for school? What am I going to do??? I will totally freak out! I just might lose my mind (again)! It just has to work. I feel like I've come to far for it to fall apart now. I honestly feel like God could not have possibly brought me this far just for it to end now. I've come to damn far...
Ya know, I didn't start this blog just to bitch the whole time. I wanted to talk about this great new life I'm building for myself. I think I thought I could brave being positive, but I haven't really accomplished that yet...
maybe tomorrow...
just another day
So, I have to move to go to law school. I'm having problems finding a house in the area in which I want to live that is also in my price range. I'm starting to get worried. I don't have enough saved up, it's too damn expensive to move.
But at least I have been feeling better than I did last week. I'm trying really hard to be excited about moving and going back to school, maybe after I find a house I will be a bit more excited about it.
I feel like I've been losing time lately. I have this fear in the back of my mind (probably because it's happened before) that I will get caught not remembering a conversation or that I did something. I am absolutely terrified that the stress of school will cause me to start losing time again, switching and, God forbid, getting depressed. I remember the days of being absolutely convinced that my kids would be better off without me, that I was a detriment to my kid's lives, that the best thing for them was for me to kill myself and save them from my "craziness." In retrospect, I see so clearly that I was just beyond depressed. The stress of my marriage and the trauma that was trying to purge itself from my system was simply too much. Not to mention, my husband was abusive to the kids and to me, but I was so caught up in the fact that he was my hero that I was blind to his abuse. He had after all rescued me from an impossible situation. My oldest was an infant, I was alone, no job, no education, no prospects. He treated me kindly and with love, I should have been grateful. But the kindness was replaced with hostility and anger. He was abusive to me in very intimate ways, ways I would not even be fully aware of for many years. He was also physically abusive to my son, spanking him, striking him in the head, screaming at him relentlessly. For several years, I too participated in the abuse. I spanked him and yelled at him. But when I realized the error of my ways, I stopped, but my husband didn't; he continued into my son's teenage years, also abusing our other children, but to a significantly lesser degree. When he raged, I froze, trained up by the adults in my childhood to never resist, to never fight back, to never question. I was groomed from infancy to tolerate abuse - to any degree, to anybody, and the stress of watching it almost daily in my adult life kept me trapped in my dissociation, unable to recover, unable to be happy, unable to move forward. I was paralyzed. It wasn't until I realized, I mean really realized, that no one could help me, no one could rescue me, no one could save me, that I understood that it was up to me. I was on my own. It was either change my life...or die. And I was the only one who could do it.
I am so happy to have my life to myself now. I am so happy to be making my own choices, but at the same time it's terrifying. It's a terrifying concept to be completely responsible for the welfare of myself and my kids. All choices, good or bad, can come back on only one person and that's daunting to say the least.
But at least I have been feeling better than I did last week. I'm trying really hard to be excited about moving and going back to school, maybe after I find a house I will be a bit more excited about it.
I feel like I've been losing time lately. I have this fear in the back of my mind (probably because it's happened before) that I will get caught not remembering a conversation or that I did something. I am absolutely terrified that the stress of school will cause me to start losing time again, switching and, God forbid, getting depressed. I remember the days of being absolutely convinced that my kids would be better off without me, that I was a detriment to my kid's lives, that the best thing for them was for me to kill myself and save them from my "craziness." In retrospect, I see so clearly that I was just beyond depressed. The stress of my marriage and the trauma that was trying to purge itself from my system was simply too much. Not to mention, my husband was abusive to the kids and to me, but I was so caught up in the fact that he was my hero that I was blind to his abuse. He had after all rescued me from an impossible situation. My oldest was an infant, I was alone, no job, no education, no prospects. He treated me kindly and with love, I should have been grateful. But the kindness was replaced with hostility and anger. He was abusive to me in very intimate ways, ways I would not even be fully aware of for many years. He was also physically abusive to my son, spanking him, striking him in the head, screaming at him relentlessly. For several years, I too participated in the abuse. I spanked him and yelled at him. But when I realized the error of my ways, I stopped, but my husband didn't; he continued into my son's teenage years, also abusing our other children, but to a significantly lesser degree. When he raged, I froze, trained up by the adults in my childhood to never resist, to never fight back, to never question. I was groomed from infancy to tolerate abuse - to any degree, to anybody, and the stress of watching it almost daily in my adult life kept me trapped in my dissociation, unable to recover, unable to be happy, unable to move forward. I was paralyzed. It wasn't until I realized, I mean really realized, that no one could help me, no one could rescue me, no one could save me, that I understood that it was up to me. I was on my own. It was either change my life...or die. And I was the only one who could do it.
I am so happy to have my life to myself now. I am so happy to be making my own choices, but at the same time it's terrifying. It's a terrifying concept to be completely responsible for the welfare of myself and my kids. All choices, good or bad, can come back on only one person and that's daunting to say the least.
Friday, May 25, 2012
day four
Wow, usually, consistency isn't something I excel at. So much so, that for me to do something four days in a row is pretty impressive. I actually don't know what I would do if it weren't for my kids keeping me going.
So, I still don't feel all too great today. I got stuck in a book about a lawsuit and it pretty much sucked away the first half of the day. It was sunny though, and that helps, and pretty warm. I wish I could shake this funk I have been in. It seems like it has dragged on for quite some time. Keeping track of how long things persist isn't really a strong point of mine; pretty much all I usually know is that it started before today. That's one reason I thought writing a blog might help. I can look back at a glance and reread what I've written. I know I can do the same in a journal, but I always seem to forget I even have a journal after a couple of days.
I guess I am just pouting. It took an act of God for me to plan, organize, and execute moving from Texas back to the Pacific Northwest last year. I planned for close to a year and a half. I prepped my kids, researched exactly where I wanted to live, studied everything about this place. Then we got up here and I completely fell in love with it. The trees, the water, the people, everything. Then I fucked up getting into the local law school and now, after everything, I have to move again! It pisses me off! I don't want to move again. If there is one thing I hate in this world it's moving. I lived in a shit hole house in Texas, mold, sinking floors, paint literally falling off the walls, for six years - because I hate moving that much. I can't stand the thought of doing it all over again. I feel like I have failed my kids. I assured them that when we got up here, this was it - no more moving. We were done. I lied. I feel like I have betrayed them. If I want to go to law school, I have to do it. I have to pack everything back up and do it all again. I am furious with myself. I feel like everyone in my family is comparing me to my mother. My sociopathic mother. By the time I graduated from high school, I had attended 28 schools, I had lived in over 40 different "dwellings." I swore I wouldn't be like her. I feel like when I tell my family that I have to do this in order to be a lawyer that they are thinking, "yeah, just like her mom - a justification for everything." And that, too, pisses me off. I don't think I'm like her. We have only moved once since the divorce almost 3 years ago, and that was to move up here. But I hear it in my head just the same. That I'm fucking them up, too. That I'm pulling the rug out from under them just as they are planting their feet on the ground. That I'm no better than her.
Hopefully, tomorrow will be better...
So, I still don't feel all too great today. I got stuck in a book about a lawsuit and it pretty much sucked away the first half of the day. It was sunny though, and that helps, and pretty warm. I wish I could shake this funk I have been in. It seems like it has dragged on for quite some time. Keeping track of how long things persist isn't really a strong point of mine; pretty much all I usually know is that it started before today. That's one reason I thought writing a blog might help. I can look back at a glance and reread what I've written. I know I can do the same in a journal, but I always seem to forget I even have a journal after a couple of days.
I guess I am just pouting. It took an act of God for me to plan, organize, and execute moving from Texas back to the Pacific Northwest last year. I planned for close to a year and a half. I prepped my kids, researched exactly where I wanted to live, studied everything about this place. Then we got up here and I completely fell in love with it. The trees, the water, the people, everything. Then I fucked up getting into the local law school and now, after everything, I have to move again! It pisses me off! I don't want to move again. If there is one thing I hate in this world it's moving. I lived in a shit hole house in Texas, mold, sinking floors, paint literally falling off the walls, for six years - because I hate moving that much. I can't stand the thought of doing it all over again. I feel like I have failed my kids. I assured them that when we got up here, this was it - no more moving. We were done. I lied. I feel like I have betrayed them. If I want to go to law school, I have to do it. I have to pack everything back up and do it all again. I am furious with myself. I feel like everyone in my family is comparing me to my mother. My sociopathic mother. By the time I graduated from high school, I had attended 28 schools, I had lived in over 40 different "dwellings." I swore I wouldn't be like her. I feel like when I tell my family that I have to do this in order to be a lawyer that they are thinking, "yeah, just like her mom - a justification for everything." And that, too, pisses me off. I don't think I'm like her. We have only moved once since the divorce almost 3 years ago, and that was to move up here. But I hear it in my head just the same. That I'm fucking them up, too. That I'm pulling the rug out from under them just as they are planting their feet on the ground. That I'm no better than her.
Hopefully, tomorrow will be better...
Thursday, May 24, 2012
day three
Today I feel a lot better. Mood is definitely rising, in spite of the fact that I overslept and my kids barely made it to school on time. But at least I feel well rested. Today I need to go grocery shopping, there is absolutely no food in my house. Well, there is some, but nothing for me to eat, other than tuna. And I'm kinda developing a moral issue with tuna. And that makes me feel guilty every time I eat it.
Anyway, maybe now is the time to disclose that some years ago, 12 to be exact, I was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Most people know this as Multiple Personality Disorder. I fought the diagnosis for about 7 years. My life was utter chaos. I was losing time, my memory of daily activities was so foggy. I couldn't really discern what I was really doing from what I thought about doing or what I had dreamed about doing. All I knew for sure was that I was supposed to kill myself. And it wasn't supposed to be pleasant. I was supposed to die a painful, gruesome death. I didn't know why, but I knew it with absolute certainty. I knew that some bad things had happened to me when I was a kid, I knew that I was innately bad, and as a result I had to die.
For so many years, when I was asked about the abuse I experienced as a child (I was going to use the word "suffered," but that just makes me sound pathetic), I really only acknowledged the experiences of my step brother molesting me after school. In my mind, and what I told others, that was really the extent of it. I minimized it, rationalized it as, "well, doesn't everybody go through something like that as a kid?" I had no real basis for complaining, and the excessive self-pity I felt had something to do with my urge to jump off bridges and overdose on massive amounts of pills.
So, as I talk about this stuff, my head gets foggy. Maybe I shouldn't be talking about it. There are definite rules, established by my internal system, that make this off limits. But maybe talking about it will help. Maybe putting it out there will help me, internally, know that I'm writing about the past, not the present. That those people cannot hurt me anymore and that I don't necessarily have to die. Honestly, I haven't wanted to kill myself for some time now. Actually, it's been about five years. It's been about five years since I got the help I actually needed. Not the "hospitalize her when she makes and attempt, drug her up and let her go three days later" kind of help, but the "let's retrain your brain to help you recover from your trauma" kind of help. The kind that actually does some good.
So, I'm gonna go. I feel like I've said a lot today. I'm gonna go get some breakfast and some groceries so my kids can actually have a meal instead of soup and top ramen for dinner tonight. I'm sure they'll appreciate that. Maybe I'll write some more later today.
Anyway, maybe now is the time to disclose that some years ago, 12 to be exact, I was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Most people know this as Multiple Personality Disorder. I fought the diagnosis for about 7 years. My life was utter chaos. I was losing time, my memory of daily activities was so foggy. I couldn't really discern what I was really doing from what I thought about doing or what I had dreamed about doing. All I knew for sure was that I was supposed to kill myself. And it wasn't supposed to be pleasant. I was supposed to die a painful, gruesome death. I didn't know why, but I knew it with absolute certainty. I knew that some bad things had happened to me when I was a kid, I knew that I was innately bad, and as a result I had to die.
For so many years, when I was asked about the abuse I experienced as a child (I was going to use the word "suffered," but that just makes me sound pathetic), I really only acknowledged the experiences of my step brother molesting me after school. In my mind, and what I told others, that was really the extent of it. I minimized it, rationalized it as, "well, doesn't everybody go through something like that as a kid?" I had no real basis for complaining, and the excessive self-pity I felt had something to do with my urge to jump off bridges and overdose on massive amounts of pills.
So, as I talk about this stuff, my head gets foggy. Maybe I shouldn't be talking about it. There are definite rules, established by my internal system, that make this off limits. But maybe talking about it will help. Maybe putting it out there will help me, internally, know that I'm writing about the past, not the present. That those people cannot hurt me anymore and that I don't necessarily have to die. Honestly, I haven't wanted to kill myself for some time now. Actually, it's been about five years. It's been about five years since I got the help I actually needed. Not the "hospitalize her when she makes and attempt, drug her up and let her go three days later" kind of help, but the "let's retrain your brain to help you recover from your trauma" kind of help. The kind that actually does some good.
So, I'm gonna go. I feel like I've said a lot today. I'm gonna go get some breakfast and some groceries so my kids can actually have a meal instead of soup and top ramen for dinner tonight. I'm sure they'll appreciate that. Maybe I'll write some more later today.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
day two
I often wonder if I'll always be alone. Is that my fate, my lot in this life? Am I focusing on my career and children to sabotage my own personal life. Or maybe I'm just focusing on one point in my life that I am not happy with. But I'm lonely, I would like someone to share my daily life with. Someone to call with exciting news or to hear their exciting news.
Anyway, today I feel much better than even yesterday and way better than I did on Monday. I feel a bit more alive, a bit more enthusiastic about my future. It probably has something to do with the fact that I got up this morning and went out, I didn't immediately begin work on the dent in the couch. I'm moving to Portland in the summer and I really need to find a house. Not knowing where I will be living really stresses me out. I spend all day surfing Craigslist until all of the houses are no longer blue links, but are now purple. I just wish I knew. I would like to purchase a house, to have a place to call my own, but I don't think that will happen anytime soon. I just don't have enough money saved up. Hell, I barely have enough saved up to move, much less put down on a house. I really want my kids to feel like we are set, not moving, that they can paint their rooms, unpack, and feel a sense of ownership in their own space.
This morning, rather than planting my ass on the couch, I took my boys to see their therapist. They are still really struggling with recovering from all their father put them through. They are still so angry, still so afraid. Frankly, I'm tired of them being so afraid of him. He's so far away, he's not allowed to see them, yet they still curl up in a ball when they talk about him. I hate him. I wish I could tell him how he destroyed this family, how hard they have to work to reclaim their own lives, how hard it will be for them to be successful in their future. I hate him. I don't often feel such strong feelings about people, but I really just hate him. An old therapist would tell me that I'm keeping myself connected to him by maintaining my hatred toward him. That makes me angry with myself. I think I'm caught up in my negativity.
Anyway, today I feel much better than even yesterday and way better than I did on Monday. I feel a bit more alive, a bit more enthusiastic about my future. It probably has something to do with the fact that I got up this morning and went out, I didn't immediately begin work on the dent in the couch. I'm moving to Portland in the summer and I really need to find a house. Not knowing where I will be living really stresses me out. I spend all day surfing Craigslist until all of the houses are no longer blue links, but are now purple. I just wish I knew. I would like to purchase a house, to have a place to call my own, but I don't think that will happen anytime soon. I just don't have enough money saved up. Hell, I barely have enough saved up to move, much less put down on a house. I really want my kids to feel like we are set, not moving, that they can paint their rooms, unpack, and feel a sense of ownership in their own space.
This morning, rather than planting my ass on the couch, I took my boys to see their therapist. They are still really struggling with recovering from all their father put them through. They are still so angry, still so afraid. Frankly, I'm tired of them being so afraid of him. He's so far away, he's not allowed to see them, yet they still curl up in a ball when they talk about him. I hate him. I wish I could tell him how he destroyed this family, how hard they have to work to reclaim their own lives, how hard it will be for them to be successful in their future. I hate him. I don't often feel such strong feelings about people, but I really just hate him. An old therapist would tell me that I'm keeping myself connected to him by maintaining my hatred toward him. That makes me angry with myself. I think I'm caught up in my negativity.
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