Grief the complex arsehole

I remember being told by someone when I first started in therapy that I appeared surrounded by grief. Utter tripe. No one close has died that I haven’t accepted or am not at peace with. This in itself is untrue. I never accept death, I just manage to box it up well into a storage container marked Do Not Open.

Therapy of any form is tiring. Intense therapy is horrific. In itself I wonder if I should have therapy for the therapy. It’s a bit like the haribo advert, a room full of mixed aged adults all becoming very young for three days a week. It makes you vulnerable, it breaks you down to your core and as a group you try to grow up all over again at a quicker pace. Finding the most basic of tools most people take for granted yet we never had or have. I sit as a toddler it feels and have to rebuild my whole inner self, I tantrum, I get sad without tears, I revisit past traumas and dig into every relationship I have or have had. I leave at the end of the day like a five year old neglected to be collected from school. Dazed, sad, thoughtful and with all these confusing emotions.

I have been thinking and thinking and working and working on figuring out how I split. Why I split. How not to split and more so how not to totally ruin my relationship and love for my duck at this time. I have known for about a year this was coming and I knew it scared me. This would become a very live opportunity to understand it. I have begun to think of it as grief. Today I was asked  “has he gone? How do you feel?” Meh. I feel meh. I don’t care today. I actually truly don’t care. As if I have never cared. I do not give a fuck. I can’t remember life with him in it. When I force myself to try I don’t remember much good. I can only remember the bad. The good becomes fuzzy and unreal. He becomes like a memory that I can’t catch.

I have thought back over my week and my blogs. I got rid of him,anger,sad, hurt and acceptance.  I know in my head I have been asking myself why I didn’t speak out more. I know the answer. Who am I to change or alter his life? His dreams. It would not have been a fair thing to do. I did not want my batshit pooing on him. The same way I will shut down to avoid it pooing on my children. I will deny myself to avoid impact that I believe is poisoning.  I have always been able to deny my own needs and feelings for the sake of others. I become a martyr in my head, happily and naturally. Or not so it would seem, it goes somewhere,it does something. So all my, why didn’t I’s? If only’s.. become a bargaining process.  I have sat wondering who can experience this range of emotion. So intense. Each emotion like a knife in my stomach.  What is that?

It’s grief. I need to check this out in therapy,but right now I think I experience a form of grief at a supersonic fast pace. It’s got to be a defence in a complicated form. Complicated grief. It fits. I can do this with anyone. Anything. I have. No tears to long relationships breaking down. To people dying. To trauma. I fly through grief. I know from past therapy I don’t actually cope it comes out sideways remember. So surely I fly through grief and spend my forevers with a ton of shit falling out Sideways. Preventable grief? My fault grief? And ohhhhhhhh kick in the many Amsterdam cycles.

I can understand it as “normal grief” in others. Maybe that is why I find supporting my duck and his needs too easy. Because whilst it is from different circumstances the feelings are similar. Their live and fierce emotions and full of angry energy. At everything. Maybe he can’t meet mine because he doesn’t understand how I feel when actually it’s constant fast flitting grief,grief he gets. The repulsive thing about bpd is the black and white,there is no grey. If you feel it you feel like a child. Like an open wound to emotions. I am a three year old carrying a life of grief. Extreme sad, extreme anger,extreme everything. So maybe I’m not mad. Ish? What would any adult do if they had to feel this with an absent inner parent ego. No sense to self soothe. With all the added years of shame binds and self hate and no worth. What do adults do in grief when they believe they caused everything? Or can fix everything? Irrational. What do adults do? Because all I know now is to take away the pain because I can’t soothe. Only recently have I learned a fraction of my needs. I know to burn to stop the anger and pain to take away the self hate that will destroy. I know to escape into drink and music, men and recently drugs. I know to deny myself things like nice food or play with it, this cost me my gallbladder years ago. All old old behaviours. What do normal people do?

So I have gone through my stages of grief. I don’t know if it’s going to continue on this cycle until..what. Or if this is where I get stuck? It scares me somewhat as well as intrigues me. It was put to me in a support call to think back and maybe consider how a toddler communicate trauma? Tears? Tantrums? Odd behaviour. But no words will come. So needs don’t get met, fundamental needs. Is this where it adapted from? Do I act like a toddler unable to put words to trauma,to grief, tothe hurt of trauma. Hurt of not being noticed ( no one’s fault, who would know or guess).  Hurt of my main carers not seeing or meeting my needs that I tried to communicate. I would say so to all. Growing up feeling like their was a failure from my main carer allowing something. Trauma after trauma. Changing traumas. Things that become normal because no one soothes anything. No one protects or prevents. Sees me.

It’s definitely all connecting. It doesn’t explain everything. But it is starting to unravel. All the thoughts that get attached and mechanisms. The ocd. The anxiety I hide. I am forever a child unable to put words to anything,because I have never known it to be met,forever questioning everything about me. About being loved enough to be seen. I hate being seen. Probably because what then?  I never allow anyone to do any different. I almost guided my duck into doing the same. I sabotaged and he didn’t see. Because I won’t be seen. No words. No communication.

This blog is a ton of waffle to anyone I imagine,but it makes some sense to me. I have a huge headache and I am tired beyond anything. What an absolute ton of fuckedy upedy ness.  All this whilst raising three children, protecting them in a way that allows for no loop hole to impact them, meeting their every single need to avoid their future therapy. Never taking time out because I trust no one to look after them well enough. Keeping it to us and us four alone. Parenting in the fiercest protective nature,contending with the ex,supporting loved ones,remembering everything that comes with life..which kid needed the opticians when?  And running a home whilst stepfording is going to be the death of me I am sure. Yes duck. Please let me see the lovely time you are having.  It’s all ridiculous and oddly isolating and lonely.

Oh there it is,the screw this shit, the biggest escape and harm all rolled into one. The thought gives me goosebumps, it’s like someone surrounds me by air I can breath, it makes my head go light and calm. But no. Because then who would do the stuff I have to? Who would look after them? Even then there are too many neglectful people.

I know this is a huge contrast to my last blog. This one is gritty,ultimately I have to remain true to the purpose of the blog and tomorrow I will probably be totally different. It’s Monday and the first day back from the festive season. Surely no one is content right now?2e7befa2eb8202b3b5758a63719d97de

 

 

 

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