Divided's Room

"A house divided against itself can not stand."-Mark 3:25

Amidst the Chaos

Amidst all the chaos and stress and sadness and upset that is surfacing in my life right now, there are some people out there who may not be perfect, but they have made me smile today.

Thank you for making me smile. I know you would never read this, but I need to say thank you all the same. I feel a little more safe, a little more relaxed, and a little more empowered because of your kind words and actions.

I was in crisis yesterday. I began to cut at the undersides of my wrists with razor blades. I have always promised myself I would never do this. But the compulsion was overwhelming. I didn’t even realize how far I had gone on my wrist until several minutes in. The cuts were not very long or deep, but I counted about a hundered knicks.

I called my therapist scared and hyperventilating because I was so frightened of what I might do. As usual, her words helped. First I asked her if it’s okay for me to call her like this even though I’m only seeing her once a month. This is the second time I’ve called her since our last session, and somehow I felt like there was an unspoken rule that said “you can only call as many times as you have had a session.” But that wasn’t the case. She said it was fine.

She helped me through some grounding exercises and breathing. She didn’t brush aside the cutting, but assured me that it’s natural for me to try to distract from the stress in that way, since it is a habit now for me.

I’m just trying to push along, slowly. I admit the cutting is really starting to scare me. I don’t know what to do. My therapist has recommended going inpatient somewhere. But how could I do that? I can’t just take off work like that. No, it’s going to take something very bad to happen before I snap out of all this and realize that cutting is dangerous stuff.

Dream hangover-ghosts, attacks, and other bizarre stuff

Last night(or most people’s ‘yesterday’)I took two melatonin around 6 o’clock in order to force myself to fall asleep. Having a job where sometimes I work at 4am and sometimes I work at 2pm…doesn’t do wonders for my sleep schedule.

Well, I may have taken a little much, as I truly did feel drugged the whole night. The melatonin didn’t stop me from waking up constantly, but it did seem to help me get back to sleep.

Along with this deep sleep came a plethorae of dreams. Nightmares, really. Every dream involved some kind of fear, terror, disgust, or just completely bizaare details.

The dream that is frontmost in my mind right now is the one where I was riding my bike, at night on a road near (one of ) my childhood homes. In the dream, I was jumped by a gang of men and raped. My mind left no detail out. Now, to my knowledge I have never been raped. But I assume this dream had to do with my fears of going to ride my bike to work early in the morning, sometimes riding at 3am.  The fact that it was at the childhood home where most of the unfortunate things of my life occurred…well I don’t know.

Another dream I had which was surprisingly more frightening than the first was one of me and my family staying in a haunted house. By family I mean me, my mom, and my brothers. Minus my sister and ex-stepdad(who is usually still my stepdad in many of my dreams.) Doors would slam, and my little brother(who is autistic) insisted that he “played with children upstairs,” even though there were no others in the house but us. I found out later that the house was one where a mother had killed all her children.

At the end of the dream, despite my little brothers’ pleads to stay, we were all ready to leave this house and be homeless. (we were homeless for sometime, not sure if there is any connection there.) We were all out in the yard, ready to leave, when my little brother said he wanted to go back in and say goodbye to the “children.” My mother tried to open the front door again, but it slammed in her face. When my brother went to open it, nothing. He walked straight in. I followed him.

He went up the stairs and I could hear him talking and laughing to some kind of imaginary friends. I was paralyzed with fear, but forced my legs to move up the stairs anyway. Upon reaching the loft, I saw them. At least 10 children, boys and girls, between the ages of maybe 4 and 7. All were injured in some way. One looked depressed and stared off into space. These were the ghosts.

I talked to them, and they seemed to enjoy my company. I admired one little boy’s action figure he was playing with. My mother arrived at the top of the stairs, and the children vanished.

“Mom, if you would just have a little faith, maybe they’ll show themselves to you.”

“It’s no use,” she said. “You have shown yourself to be a better ‘mother’ to them than I would.”

And that was all.

The Shelf

Food shelves sure are interesting. The whole system they use at my particular food shelf is kinda difficult for me to cope with…I become very shy and quiet!

The food shelf is held at a local thrift store that is run by a Lutheran church in our community. It’s sweltering hot, and from the outside it doesn’t look like the place anyone would want to spend their afternoon. The building is rundown and is next door to an old abandoned gas station. There’s a big handpainted sign outside that gas station that says “Sod King.” I have no idea what that’s about. 

You sign in at the small table they have set up outside the thrift store. A big wall fan is propped up on the table to help keep the volunteers cool, but I doubt it does much good. The words “Not For Sale” are written in black marker on the fan’s side.

I don’t think I’m the kind of person who normally shows up there. I’m in my bike shorts, carrying a helmet, backpack on my back, cut off gloves on my hands with duct tape on each glove. The tape holds extra padding in place; I put it there to help relieve my carpal tunnel.

I sign in and they give me my number. The girl who gives me my number can’t find my name at first, and I start to feel embarrassed. Like maybe I shouldn’t be there. As she waits for help from her supervisor, she asks me “what did you do to your arm?”

“What?” I respond, surprised, pretending I didn’t hear her the first time.

“What did you do to your arm?” she asks again, pointing at her own arm the location of some cuts poking out underneath my short sleeve.

“Oh…I hurt it.”

They find my name and give me a number. I am told to walk around the side of the building.

I pass the carcasses of “donations” to the thrift store on the way. Really it looks like the city dump.

People are sitting in fold out chairs underneath pop out sun shades. Old people, hispanic families with 4 kids and no father. An old gentleman with long hair and a beard and hawaiian print shorts. A volunteer pokes her head out of the doorway to the building and says “37?” Oh, so you just wait here till your number is called. I’m 39. I don’t feel like I deserve to stand in the shade, so I wait out in the hot sun with sweat starting to drip down my face.

I never feel very hot when I ride my bike. The wind going against my face is like a fan. But standing in the florida sun is sheer torture sometimes. My number is finally called.

An older gentleman calls it. I walk in, and it’s crowded in there. I would almost rather have waited longer out in the sun…the big crowd scares me. I think it was his first time doing this, because he didn’t look he knew what he was doing. He kept on asking his supervisor questions, like “So if her form says this, does that mean she can take two cans or 5?”

You see, you’re volunteer walks you around to all the different stations in the pantry, some with cans, meat, protein(which they consider to be peanut butter or 1 can of tuna), dry goods (cereal and macaroni and cheese boxes), canned beans, deserts, and bread. I think my volunteer’s name tag said “Steven,” but I can’t be sure, since I tried to not make eye contact. It helped that he was wearing sunglasses despite the dim lighting.

I never take all that I can. Mainly because my backpack won’t fit that. I try to stick with 2 to 5 cans, a cereal, a mac and cheese, peanut butter(I got tuna last time and it went too fast), and some bread. As much as I want to take some meat, I have worked in a grocery store long enough to know that the handling (and the temperature) is not “food safe.”

“You sure you don’t want a desert?” He points to a dutch apple pie from Publix Bakery. “Look at that pie, it looks good.”

“No thanks. I work at Publix and eat enough sweets there.”

” Oh you trying to watch your weight? What about some doughnuts, I bike too, I eat 4 of those little powdered doughnuts before I go biking.”

His persistence made me smile. “No thank you,” I said again. “I’m fine with what I have.”

I take my goods outside and load them into my backpack, trying to distribute the weight so that it doesn’t feel lopsided/cans don’t jab into my back. I turn on “We Didn’t Start the Fire” by Billy Joel on my ipod and unlock my  bike, thankful that home is close, because the backpack is heavy.

I know deep down it’s nothing to be ashamed over, but I guess the reaction of my sister is still hanging in my head. “That’s no way to live, our mom taught us it’s okay to be on welfare and in debt and go to the food shelf and it’s just not right.”

I get why she sees it as stigmatizing but “that’s no way to live?” I don’t understand that comment. If “living” is fine dining and always having enough money for everything…it’s not really a goal of mine, then. “Living” would be not being afraid to socialize, not cutting, not feeling depressed/being in constant mood swings, not feeling like dying. That would be living. And if I were still going to the food shelf but experiencing all those things, I think that would be quite the life.

Good Grief, Mood Swings, and Thankful

I know it is good to allow yourself to grieve but…how long is too long? And how much is too much? These are just questions I ask myself from time to time…why don’t others understand that the loss is so massive?

Yesterday I lay in bed and cried on and off from about 8:00am to noon. I called my therapist. I called my Dad.

Tawny was helpful but, I suppose if I had been more honest about what I was feeling at the time, her words might have had more meaning. I only told her the half of it. After calling my Dad I cried for so long. He was at work and didn’t have time to talk much.

I cut a lot yesterday. I cut in the bathroom at work every chance I got.

And then, poof. The feelings were gone. During the last two hours of my 10 hour shift, I was calm and not feeling like a zombie. I was even happy. I’m still pretty happy, listening to 80s music and super excited to get my bike back from the shop this afternoon! Let’s face it…my roommate’s diamondback mountainbike is no Dawes Roadie…

I feel the need to be honest somewhere about this. I haven’t told anyone but my sister, and I feel ashamed for what I’m about to write. I have been so financially out of it lately(therapy hurt me with money a lot) I have been going to the food shelf. Will be going in a few minutes. I wish I didn’t have to do this. But all my money right now goes towards my rent and bills. I don’t even have a car and paying off my credit cards and student loan debt is killing me.

I grew up in poverty,homelessness, foodstamps, foodshelves and the like, so I don’t know why I’m not surprised. It’s a big source of shame for me right now, though. I hope this is shortlived. I may be getting  a raise soon at work though, so that would be nice. 9 bucks an hour isn’t much but it’s way better than what I’ve got now. I’m thankful my manager is pushing so hard to get the 75 cent raise to $9 approved.

Tag…answers to Horrified in hiding

My answers to Horrified in Hiding’s questions :) http://horrifiedinhiding.wordpress.com/

 

1. In what kind of home do you live?

A single family house that I have split leases with three other college students. Yeah…I got lucky

2. Do you have any pets?

No. If I had the time/funds to have one, I would have a golden retriever.

3. In which country are you?

USA!

4. What type of diet do you have?

Um…complicated. I try not to go above 1550 calories a day. I weigh almost everything I eat to be sure of this. I try to eat at least 50grams of protein a day, and I try to keep fat grams below 30. After that, anything goes.

5. Are you in love?

I’m in what some would call a relationship. Others call it Friends with Benefits. I don’t know if I’m in love. Once I thought I was…and turns out I had it all wrong. So…I’m kind of against romance right now and am just taking it as it comes in this relationship.

6. Favorite type of thing to watch on the screen–type of movie or type of tv show?

Okay, I never got into Lost until recently. Since I have Netflix I have been watching it almost nonstop. Me and my friend had to work out a system where neither of us is allowed to be more than 3 episodes ahead of the other one. We are currently on season 5 of 6! And once season 2 of Walking Dead comes on Netflix, I’ll be back on that too. Otherwise…I like Glee and Parks and Rec. So it’s those 4 shows. As for movies…I love ‘em all.

7. Do you like to exercise?

I ride my bike as my transportation, so exercising just kinda comes with the daily routine. I don’t have a set regimen, it just happens. And yes I like it. But other exercise regimens are a pain.

8. Do you have any children?

N-O!!!! I don’t think I ever want to.

9. How long have you been blogging (including other blogs you have had)?

Not long, few months I guess? Almost a year?

10. What do you think of people who live on boats?

AWESOME!!! I would love to live on a boat. Although I imagine I would be constantly afraid of it sinking…so maybe not!

11. Do you hate anyone?   Why?

Yes. My mom. I don’t act on this hatred towards her, but it’s still there. I’m not sure if that’s right or not. I hate for what she did and does. She is emotionally abusive, manipulative, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And her biggest crime was keeping me from my Dad pretty much my whole life.

Sorry to end on that dreary note…thanks for tagging me again and the questions were great, I had fun!

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