The growth before the birth. 

I have not blogged for ages, I have been close many a time but I was not sure how I could possibly put into words the work and pain that comes with the final stages of therapy. I could not pin what was happening to me but something huge was occurring inside. Firstly I should mention that coming to terms with my IPDE scores was a wake up call, a painful one. On paper I thought I was un fixable, on paper my scores read higher and more erratic than others. I have the highest scores possible in paranoia, Schitzotypal and borderline personality disorder. I also score high with schizoid, avoidant and antisocial. It was the high bpd and antisocial that concerned me most. Maybe it’s true. I am a psychopath?! However with the help of many therapists who have dedicated themselves to me for two years, 18 hours a day and members with their 24 hour support, I have accepted that whilst this is the case, I can choose to accept it or fight it,and fight it I did,fight it I have,fight I will every second of my life.

Within weeks of receiving confirmation I was not improving, I became angry. A deep dark anger that I could not shift, I could not ride, I could not tolerate walking around with. Every day I thought it was possible I could murder, others or myself. I withdrew in therapy and found speaking made me ache. I had poison sat in my mouth, a poison I wanted to spit at everyone, I wanted to break, infect, seep the rot from within out onto the world. I sat with it for longer than was bearable. I hate anger, I hate the emotion, until therapy anger was an emotion I felt others made me like and if it was not productive then it was pointless. Who was I kidding? I had anger in the core of my system, probably forever, maybe if you believe, causing angry eczema and illness throughout my life. I had suppressed anger and pain so deep I had spent my adulthood wondering why I lacked emotions correctly. Wondering why I was so inept of displaying them in a form that would not see me under the crisis team. I lived in this pressure cooker with a contained anger, it was not, can not, ever work, eventually the lid will blow and the fire will explode and the sparks will hit out. 

I have learnt to voice it. Not to anyone as I had thought I would need to, just to the world, to my self. I am pissed I had little chance of building normal core beliefs because of abuse I suffered so young. I am pissed that I had parents that failed, parents that for me were at times physically, mentally and emotionally neglectful and abusive. I am livid I cannot tell them for various complex reasons, I am so beyond mad that I think alot of it would have taken little effort to get right. I am furious they never learnt to see me. Who I am! My needs! And I am seriously forever mad that I will never be able to turn back time and manage something I never got. I cannot blame them for the life that became! Or can I?  Well I do. I needed things, I needed protection,  I needed to be cared for, I needed all of the times I acted in a way that was sideways to be noticed, I needed to not feel alone and so confused and angry and uncared for. Because sadly, the pain for this I cannot word, the outcome was some seriously fucked up script behaviour, an absence of a parent ego, shame binds, critical voices, emotions and feelings so complex that they embedded deep into my soul and grew and grew and grew. Rippling out and resulting in continous traumas.I am also mad that the growth could not maintain itself and it unleashed itself into my world,my childrens world,my family,my life and my relationships. So that everywhere and everyone became untrustworthy and I would reign down until I smashed everything. I would enter relationships that would feed me like a Christmas feast could fill the starved, feed my scripts, feed my paranoia, feed my belief that I was so infectious I would turn it to black. When it did on a deep level I believed that the awkward, manipulative, difficult, nasty and awful child I had been brought up to believe I was, had won. The one that deserved it because ” you just can’t learn to shut up” despite the extreme of an injustice, had won. I did it. Everything is me.  This can sound as irrational and as unbelievable as you like. But for me and my therapy I had to accept that the damage was done before I was capable of doing it to myself. At a stage fundamental to my development,in my childhood and adolescence when someone was responsible for me.

So what happens with this anger? You accept the driving force is sad. Actually when you shout at your fellow members about how bullshit life has been,  behind every word is a lump in your throat,tears burning behind your eyes. I don’t actually cry in front of anyone, however my bathroom and my pillow have seen endless tears in recent months,tears that just would not stop, sometimes for nothing. I am hurt, pained that I felt no one cared. I am bitterly hurt that I didn’t and couldn’t love myself,like myself even. I am pained I have never been able to achieve the things I have wanted to with a person I have been deserving of. I am hurt that I have been let down and neglected by those who love me yet where unable and unskilled. That as a result I turned off any sense of self and spent my life dedicated to trying to meet the needs of those nearest. Trying to protect my children and my siblings in ways I felt fit,it hurts that actually I probably failed. I just tried to be an adult that would maybe meet some needs that I knew they may never have had met. I would try to be the home my brother felt he didn’t have, I would try to be the adult that would rescue my sister from walking home late from the park, or bringing her back from university when she was homesick. I would try to listen, rescue, offer some solitude whilst raising children in my own difficult situations. The sad fact is I am just a sister and I cannot stop, undo or prevent, any harm from the rest of the world onto them. No doubt in fact I am probably responsible for some of their own issues. This fact makes me sad. My own children who I vowed to be a good mum for, hell I know how it goes wrong so sure as shit I should get it right. I don’t. I try. I try! I take comfort in the knowledge that I may actually be more aware than most about minds,mental health, needs, about showing care,so the getting it wrong is cushioned occasionally. I’m not super woman I still fail, I still learn, I still have one out of three awake and pushing his luck at midnight. The putting energy into others is one thing, the sacrificing myself however makes it something else. No one can ever hate me the way I hate myself. That is until the anger unleashed and the tears came. It has seen me physically ill,my voice has not been the same for a while now, I get sickness, headaches, pain in almost all of my body, I don’t manage to toilet like “normal” people, I tear patches off of my skin with my nails because I get itchy. My ankle is always covered in scabs as are my wrists. Yet.. I don’t burn. I don’t bruise myself. I don’t want to die. 

That’s right,I don’t want to die. Where did this come from? I still get waves of cravings, but I can tell myself it’s not me,it’s either the mania or depression,sometimes it is the panick of  the overwhelming.But it is not me. So I ride it,not how I did, not with the longing or idealism I did. Now it’s more with an  appreciation for how wonderful it makes me feel but actually…not today thank you, today I don’t want to die. 

I could not tell you when this change occurred. I can look over the past months and see very clear interchanges taken. Mr Duck for example. A few months ago something happened that totally and utterly crushed everything I thought he was, we where, it threw myself into question. Something ultimate and wounding. Never before had I ever thought, you should care for me,you should love me,you should respect me. Never in my entire thirty five years have I ever stopped and thought “what about me?” past relationships despite the treatment have always been terminated on the basis of my children. Ultimately. Suddenly with Mr Duck, I had had enough. If you can’t ship up you ship out,I want for little and if you can’t meet basic needs and show basic care and love for me then that’s not ok. Now I stand by this, I will never accept less than what I deserve, which is a rising level. Every day I consciously think to myself “do I deserve this because miss sassy you are worth alot”. I keep inbedding the new pathways. As a result I confidently feel he has seen that actually I am worth more. I have told him so ruthlessly,in a manner I did not predict but was with conviction.  Recent months has seen him in his own type of therapy, seen him trying, seen him really learning himself that actually life is worth having the way it is. That he too can have what he wants and deserves and that to have it you have to work at it. The man that never wanted to get old now talks about our old age together,the man so drenched in his complex grief is regrowing and fighting hard at his own battles so that the “us” we want is possible but also so that the “him” he is, is enough. Therapy did not just touch my soul, I believe it helped to touch his. 

Also. My alcoholic ways have eased, I still love a drink, what mother with peace on a Friday doesn’t celebrate making another week with a wine? But I do not care to get off my face, it bores me, watching others and actually those I love doing what I did, hurts. It hurts to watch. I don’t like it, I don’t like knowing their subconscious ignorance to their pain drives them to destroy themselves. I still love a night out with the duck and with the girls, it is just purer. My awareness of myself turns my drink sour if I start crossing my own boundaries. 

The ex. What a prat! No more do I let this sad, manipulative, angry man press my detrimental buttons. He does not have power to change my world or my internal world. Admittedly I still have times when I hope he wakes up to a bad bad day, but he will never have power. I now have mediation under my belt, requirements I had met unquestionably by an external organisation, that forced his hand. Social services fighting for me and the  police recording all of his attempts to claw me back into his games. I love the children this man gave me however in my own silent way I shall always feel sad that it took therapy too help me see his damaging impact on me and as a result my gorgeous babies. 

I also have few friends left. Some it would seem are what feels like me years ago and I pity the journey ahead of them. The ones I keep close are true, pure, loyal and in their own ways good for me and have always been my biggest supporters. I do not want or need friends that sabotage those around them, myself included, for personal gains,however they find fit to make the justification. I am worth more because actually I try really hard to be a good person and a good friend and no situation will throw that into jeopardy. 

When you wonder what you will be left like after therapy, it’s daunting and terrifying. What if the you that you know is stripped because all that you are is a broken, badly behaved, vacant, shell of a person. Now I know that the you left, is the same you that walked into that room in the first place. I still laugh at the same things, I am just more aware of my dark humour protecting my inner child’s emotional self. I still love to sing and dance, because once upon a time my clever little brain used it to escape and now my adult brain enjoys it to release negativity and soak up new vibes. I still feel, but now their not as overwhelming or confusing, I know what those feelings are and why I may be feeling them, if not still with a bit of work. I accept I may not show them like others but that’s okay, every tc member has learnt to read my stone face and so I assume and hope the same happens with my loved ones. It may not be a conventional way of expressing ones self but so long as communication is possible.  I still struggle to do the things in life that comes easy to others, I still become child like when in need, I still zone out, I still have days of spending, I still have days when I’m not quite sure if I will make it out of bed. Thats just me,the same me. But I manage and I don’t fail to understand and I fight. I cap my spending, I use my tools to zap me as close to the room as possible, I get out of bed and dammit I put my make up on and smile and I mean the smile. Because here I am.. In life, with its ups and it’s down and I manage and I look forward to managing tomorrow. 

Once you have lived in such a broken, complicated way eventually you have to choose. Ultimately are you in or out. You can do this without death or with. Personally living whist dead is worse than death. I chose to fight, I was ashes smouldering, desperate for ignition or to be extinguished. 

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