Well, I don’t really know at the moment… can that be my answer? I’m still suicidal, self harm helps with this, but I’m trying to not do that, I got close tonight but managed to abstain; I’m still psychotic, just not as bad; I’m still having flashbacks and body memories galore, every day, at least once a day; sleep is a crapshoot, it may happen, it may not, tonight it did not.
The PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) are really messing with me right now. I have been having a really hard time with memories of something that happened in September of 2000. These memories are causing a lot of problems, including crying spells, isolation, withdrawal, dissociation, self injury, and increasing suicidal thoughts. Basically, all of the signs of a severe episode of clinical depression. One that a psychiatrist would encourage possibly going back into the hospital to treat. Which is NOT going to happen.
I have school that I need to take care of. I cannot fall behind. Not this semester. I really have to make it through the semester this time. I cannot do the in-out crap again… I have got to stay out of the hospital.
It’s been almost 2 months now since I got out. The suicide attempt was on the 11th of December. I got out of the hospital on the 19th of December. Now, if I can just stay out… that is all I have to do.
The particular incident that is bothering me the most, that I am working on in IOP, is extremely traumatic. Even writing that sentence brought up enough thought of the event that I’m on the verge of tears already… The IOP that I am in is trauma focused, so everyone in the room is there because they have experienced something traumatic and are wanting to work on it and be able to better handle the memories when they come up.
When I was finally able to tell the group about the trauma that I am there for, the group was just quiet. I was fighting tears, I didn’t want to cry in front of people, not because it was IOP or them or anything, just because it was people. At some point in the course of the conversation, the group therapist started saying “it wasn’t your fault” repeatedly. Over and over and over. The first time she said it, I could feel the tears move higher up in my throat. The second time, I could feel them welling in my eyes. The third, I couldn’t fight it anymore. I started shaking with every breath, and I was balling my eyes out. I could hear that one of the other group members came over by me, and she put a tissue next to my hand. Then she asked if she could touch me… I nodded. She rubbed the back of my shoulder while I cried. I was glad she asked before touching me, that helped a lot. That was the main reason I said yes in the first place… because she asked permission, I felt like I could trust her. Honestly, at the time that I was crying, I couldn’t even tell which group member she was. All I had to go on was her voice, and I just couldn’t tell… it was only the end of my first week.
And now, at this very moment, my eyes are welling up, and I can feel the tears in my throat. I am trying to fight them, I don’t want to cry before I even get to IOP. I don’t want it to be that kind of day. I don’t want the day to start with crying. I don’t want to show up to IOP with puffy eyes, looking like I have been crying, before we have even started.
I haven’t slept. At all. I had a sleep study night before last, at the doctor’s office, and had to be there for part of the day so they could test me during several naps, a couple hours apart each. I was able to leave a little after 2 pm. They woke me up at about 6:30 am yesterday morning, and had me try to nap 3 times, but I don’t think I ever fell asleep during the naps, although I may have. So I have been awake since 6:30 am yesterday, with the possibility of a 30 minute nap. It is currently 7:42 am, so I have been awake over 24 hours already. Which means I am in an extra vulnerable state. I have class tonight as well, but I should be able to sleep a little between IOP and class. IOP is over at 1 pm and class starts at 6 pm, so sleep is a possibility. I was hoping to work on my speech class but then had insomnia. Oh, well…
But, really, I was going somewhere… where was I going with that train of thought?
I’ve just gotten to the point that the flashbacks and body memories are becoming too much. I can’t handle them anymore. I want them to stop, but the only way to really make them stop right away is to make me stop right away. Making them end means making me end. That is honestly where my head is at right now. My head is telling me suicide is the logical answer to getting away from reliving the event multiple times a day. (Don’t worry, I am being honest with the therapist at IOP. She knows that I am having suicidal thoughts and we check in about safety at the end of the day, every day.)
[Trigger][Description of Abuse]
I just cannot keep seeing the moment that *he* figures out that I’m pregnant, and the pure rage that comes over his face with the realization. He asks how far along I am. I tell him about 14 weeks, if I’m calculating right, and he gets even more furious which I didn’t think was possible. The fear I felt in that moment was absolutely daunting. I had never been that afraid of him during our entire relationship. During the flashbacks, I feel that fear, at that level, just like I am back in that moment, seeing the fury wash over his face… Next thing I know, I am on the ground and he is kicking me, aiming for my stomach. I do my best to stay in a ball and protect my child, but he keeps managing to get me out of the ball by grabbing my hair, kicking me in the back, or picking me up and throwing me onto the ground again. I didn’t know he was capable to lifting me. I mean, I wasn’t a tiny girl… at the time, I weighed around 185 lbs, maybe more. He jsut kept going and going for what felt like forever. I don’t know how long it really went on, I just know it seemed to go on for a really long time. After a couple of days, I started showing signs of a miscarriage. The symptoms kept getting worse as time went on and eventually I found myself just on my bed in the fetal position. My son eventually left my body, and the image of him is forever burned into my brain. He was so tiny, but he looked like a baby and he was a boy. I named him Michael and I cried for hours and buried him by myself. I hadn’t told anyone I was pregnant, because of the abuse and the fear of what would happen.
That is what I relive on a daily basis. The beating that caused me to lose my son, the sensations of the miscarriage itself and the images of my son once he was outside of my body. It’s torture.
Well, I need to get ready to go… I have to leave for IOP in a little bit and I’m not even dressed yet. Plus, I’m on the verge of tears again, and I need to find something to distract myself to keep me from all-out ugly-crying.
I hope y’all have a great day, and I will talk with you soon!