I think the whole feel good movement off the famous Forrest Gump line ‘Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re gonna get ’til you bite into one’ would have been remarkably different if Forrest Gump existed in the Harry Potter world, where candies and chocolates could have vomit flavored filling.
I think those feel good people would have shut up then.
Because then the line would have to be something like ‘Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know when you bite into one whether or not it’s gonna taste like vomit’. That puts a whole different spin on it.
Got a lot of sleep. Almost 9 hours, and I was dozing in my chair for an hour before I went to bed. Could have slept more, or I felt like it. It was only a nagging headache flitting around my brain that made me get up. I don’t know if the sleep and headache are stress related or RA and allergy related. I’ll deal with them first as real, physical problems. If they don’t abate, then maybe it’s all stress.
Tried to rest yesterday. My wrist and foot pain have been high, and I can’t seem to do much before I pull up with a sharp hiss. All this sitting around is difficult. My body needs rest, but my head doesn’t stop telling me I’m lazy, I should do this or that, I’m such an awful person for taking so much time off. Been compromising, and doing ‘easy’ things (easy in that I don’t have to exert much physically). Got the appointment for my passport renewal set, and pulled all the paperwork (a shitload) to print. Wrote out a draft of the letter to Heike, telling her I’ve quit smoking and that I will not be returning to Addiction Central. Still no call from her. And no need to turn off my phone, either.
…Writing that letter to Heike…difficult. Fuck! I can’t even form a goddamn sentence about it. Yes, I’d say it was fucking difficult! Obviously!! Still goddamn fucking difficult, isn’t it? I’ve got to fucking resort to fucking swearing to get anything out right now goddamn it goddamn it goddamn it!!
Okay. No one has this address. It’s still a safe place for me. I’m still a faceless nothing, not on record, not being watched other than by the usual BBBN (Big Brother Bullshit Network; call me paranoid, others have). This remains a safe place.
I’m smoking. My break did a lot; I am no longer smoking as much or as heavily, nor am I smoking the highest grade marijuana, or even the second highest. I’m down to mid grade mixed with a little bit higher grade. About 4 a day. I feel I CAN take it down to less, even quit outright if that’s what’s needed. But it’s not needed right now. What’s needed right now is something to help me over the paranoia still in me from that panic attack. I SO don’t want to experience that again. Ever. Please. This is a straight out fear reaction. I’m terrified of that. Can’t function at all when it happens. And mega problems functioning for hours/days after.
How is anyone supposed to live a life when that happens?
I know what I need to do is make it safe for me to remember these things, right? But no one seems to be able to tell me how to do that. It’s not a do this, think that, and you’re done kind of thing, and I want it to be. I want an instruction manual. I want to know that if I invest the time on it I’ll make progress, like learning a new language.
But there are no guarantees.
The only thing that IS guaranteed is more pain. Pain from reliving it, going thru it. Maybe over and over. The goal is – what? To grow so immune to the fucking triggers that you can finally slow down the film and dissect it without getting emotionally involved? What? I don’t get it. ‘Forgive myself’?!? I remember one decision time. Not the specifics of what the decision involved, only that I saw two choices in front of me: honesty, which would prove my innocence but condemn someone else which I felt would crush my parents; or take the blame, which somehow I felt would be easier on my parents. I don’t know WHY I felt that way, but I did. So I took the blame. Because that’s what loving my parents, particularly my mother, looked like. Taking the blame. Shouldering the responsibility that was passed onto me.
I made that choice. Right then and there. It was not a novel choice in my life; I’d been making decisions like that over and over again as I grew up. I was – as I see now – groomed to make that choice. That only makes me angry. Realizing now, FULLY realizing, that other people grew up with parents who really supported them blows my fucking mind. It was always just a fantasy to me, never reality. Those cases were fairy tales, stories. I saw it in films all the time.
I still see it. Now I look at strangers in the street and think about it. I wonder if I can see it in their faces. Everyone seems happy to me. They have purpose, things they care about. Are they faking it, like me? Or are they actually part of this freakish group, these people who had parents that supported them? My parents threw money at the problem. Or my mother did. Well do I remember the shopping trips, the afternoons off from school so she could take me here or there for a ‘special’ day. My older siblings called me spoiled. But you know what? Money is cold. It doesn’t give any comfort or love. It doesn’t soothe anything. Not for that little girl inside me. She needs something else.
So I’m doing the best I can. Day by day. Minute by minute. Probably screwing up a thousand things, but hey! I’m still trying. If I’m the only one who can get thru this, the only one who can really change things for myself, then who’s to say I’m not doing exactly what I need to do to get me thru it? As long as I keep allowing myself to confront it, to explore it, little by little, isn’t that all anyone can ask?
I accept that. I’m doing exactly what I need to do, at the pace I need to do it. I once climbed a mountain during a very bad RA attack. Putting one foot in front of the other was difficult. Yet I did it. I stood at the top of that mountain.
This is just one more mountain.