In Which I Don't Have the Words

Dear World:

Sincerely,

Me.

In Which I Realize My Progress has been an Illusion

Dear World:

The process is this:  I think I've made progress.  I pat myself on the back and drink some celebratory tea.  I dare the world to bring on the next challenge.  I believe myself stronger.

And then it gets very firmly re-established that my progress, if any, has been illusory at best.  If blame needs to be apportioned and noone else is willing to take it upon their shoulders, I step up and lift (with my back, because I can't even do this right).  If someone speaks loudly to me, my hands shake and my brain scatters to the four corners of the room.  If personal defense is necessary, I step to the side and all their words through my defenses.

Damnitall.  When will I learn?

Sincerely,

Me.

In Which I Realize Something

Dear World:

I think I've got it.  My therapist is there to let me vent and tell me that I am not wrong to feel frustrated and angry at the situation.  To allow and accept and then gently move me past the negative (non-helpful) emotions to a place where I can look around and take a deep breath.

Got it.

Sincerely,

Me.

In Which I Breathe

Dear World:

Today, you sent me a letter at work.  The second I saw it, my heart rate sped up and I could feel that electric zing along my skin that meant I was about to hit a panic attack.  Over the possibility that what was inside the envelope could be, somehow, my fault.  This probably seems ridiculous to someone not neck-deep in it.  And it is.  Utterly ridiculous.  Yet there it was.  Sitting on my chest and buzzing in my ears.  I could barely breathe at the idea of what could be in a damn envelope.

Anticipatory stress.  I knew it was something that I experienced at an extremely elevated level so I decided to put the envelope to the side and not open it until I could pick it up without hyperventilating. 

It took almost ten minutes (and multiple aborted attempts), but I was finally able to do it and, as it turns out, the contents were completely benign.

So, ten points to House Hufflepuff.

Sincerely,

Me.

In Which I Learn

Dear World:

I have learned that those things which I do to keep myself from "going" crazy, those things I do so that I feel like I can be prepared for the worst...those things are slowly destroying me.

I'm sure that anyone looking in a window to my brain would offer up a condescending "well, of course" and I'm fairly certain that a portion of my brain knew that what I was doing wasn't really productive.  But, when you're just sitting there, helpless to change anything, you start spinning your wheels.  You ignore the smell of burning rubber just to feel like you're doing something.

Now to figure out better ways to twiddle my mental fingers.

Sincerely,

Me.

In Which I Consider

Dear World:

I'm now staring back at a solid week at the slightly higher medication levels and I'm feeling a little static-y, a little soft around the edges, mental-wise.  Not sure if this is a negative side-effect of the meds or if this is how "normal" people live.  I have time to consider and evaluate before I react to something and there is some little part of me that misses the gut-punch reactions I used to have.  I feel like my emotions are the straight-man in my personal tragically comedic drama of a life.

It's something I'll discuss at my next session, since I'm fairly certain that this is probably part of the core problem.

That's what people do in those things, right?
It's not just bitching and moaning?
Right?

Right?

Sincerely,

Me.

In Which I Begin

Dear World:

Last night I started a new chapter that is going to be all about me finding some sort of balance in my life.  It'll suck.  I'll wail and gnash my teeth and declare it too hard.

But, I think I need it and so I'm trying to build up momentum to get me through and to get me over and to get me to the other side.

So, whooo balance.

Sincerely,

Me.