Unbridled Confession of a Cutter

As a teenager and a younger adult, I was a cutter.  I cut myself to control the anger and pain and other overwhelming desperately depressive negative thoughts.  The physical pain was much easier to understand and cope with than the emotional depths of sorrow.  It was release.  It was control.  It was safety.  It was visible.  It was tangible reality.  It was solace.  It was twisted meditation.

I am still a cutter.  Not that I take a blade to my body anymore, but I deal with the impulse to do it.  When sorrow racks my body with uncontrollable tears and sobs to the point of gasping for air, it is the first vice I want to use.  It works for me, even though it damages me.   It solves the immediate scenario and alleviates the emotional strain, but I know better. 

As a teenager, I didn't know better.  I didn't even understand why I did it. So I cut or shredded or sliced my skin.

As a younger adult, I did know better.  I understood it.  I used it for the purposes mentioned above.  I had no qualms about it, but I tried to hide it from others.

It was NEVER about getting attention, just to be clear about that, and I'm not making this confession for that purpose either. 

I tell you this to get it out of me, to share with you a painful reality, and perhaps to commiserate with those of you who know what it feels like to deal with such impulses.

In this current state of being, I resist the impulse.  I resist taking rash actions - like cutting my flesh, or shaving my head, or cutting out the dreads I already have (since I cannot get my full install before I leave town), or getting totally sloshed drunk to the point of no return, or whatever else I can find to take my focus off of the emotional black hole that feels like it is sucking me deeper down the spiral of negativity. 

I cry and cry and cry through it.  I confess it and do not allow it to control me.  I become even more transparent as a friend, even more emotionally vulnerable, even more authentic in my expression of self - not only the light and bright sunshine Self, but the dark and shadowed sorrowful Self.  

I acknowledge that I have other tools to deal with this pain.  I pray.  I meditate.  I can walk this beautiful dog that's a blessing and an inconvenience.  I can paint while I listen to chakra balancing music.  I can write in my journal and/or post on Facebook or my blog.  I can prepare healthy gourmet food.  I can read an uplifting book.  I can still hear the destructive internal voice that beckons me to wallow in the sadness and hide from it in a darker place of self-abuse.  I can still hear the voice, but I’m not listening to its call to arms anymore. 

And the note for why I'm so sad:
1.  Best friend moved away yesterday... sad.
2.  Taking care of her dog is wonderful, but it majorly disrupted my plans, and his being here reminds me she is gone... and he is sad and that's sad to see.
3.  I have pissed off a different friend, by taking on the responsibility of the dog... regretful.
4.  Not going to be able to get my dreads installed before going to SatNamFest and that was/is a HUGE deal to me.  A HUGE DEAL!  Huge... angry at myself for letting it happen.
5.  A job I loved is coming to an end, and I don't see myself working in that field again... sad about leaving what I love and angry it came down to that due to being invalidated by management. 
6.  Our house is a huge wreck and I don't have the physical ability to do much about it... frustrated and sad and angry and annoyed with the state of things.

These weights together create an overwhelming sadness and a sense that I have no control over my life, even though I know that's a self-lie.

Thank you for hearing me.

Woosh, there it is.

Wednesday is one of my favorite days.  Wed-ness-day.  Weedsday.  Hump day.  The halfway point between responsibilities and playtime. Also, Wednesday is the day the pool boy comes to take away all of the dead bugs and dead foliage and leave me with sparkle.  This Arizona sun has brought the temperature in the water to a lovely 65º-67º in the peak of the afternoon.  The other day, I stuck my feet in the water while I did some Progressive Muscle Relaxation.  I thought, "This isn't so bad.  I could probably go all in."  Of course, I had to wait until Wednesday.


After becoming one with the idea of getting in the chilled water, I made a comment, "Tomorrow, I am getting in my unheated backyard pool. Love living in a warm climate with swimming season lasting for half (or more) of the year."  My Arizonan friends begged to differ.  With eager anticipation, and a little bit of dread, I took a bet.  If I could last 5 minutes in the water (up to chest level), then lunch is covered.  Fail, and buy lunch.  Simple friendly wager, and something we'd do for each other anyway.  Still, it worked like a charm.

As soon as the pool boy left, I began to psyche myself up for my impending battle with the enticing swimming pool.  Made sure the camera had batteries (as video proof was a part of the bet) and the tripod was set.  I put on my fancy battle garb (aqua shoes, bathing suit, and neoprene shirt) and suited up in my goggles, nose clamp, and swim cap.  Lastly, I plugged in the music and tossed the aquatic thermometer - like a dive stick - to the middle of the pool.


The chill of the water gave me second thoughts.  Up to my knees, "Am I really going to do this?". Up to my waist, "There's no turning back now".  Up to my ribs, "Just go for it!" 


WOOOOoooosh


I proceeded head-first into the water and down to where the thermometer rested. 

67º (or a little under)


Let the 5 minutes BEGIN!


The first couple of minutes were excruciating and brutally cold.  I pushed beyond my comfort zone and into the fires of determination.  I thought, "The first song on the Blue Man Group album is 5:33 minutes, so if I can make it through ONE song, I win.  WIN!"


I made it through 6 songs.  27 minutes. 


Seleka: 1
66º Swimming Pool: 0


The pool didn't even see it coming.


Not only do I get the satisfaction of overcoming an obstacle.  I win two lunches with friends!  I'm feeling SO loved and supported right now.  I need to remember this feeling and savor it for the days when it feels like I am all alone under the Arizona sun.

Group Meeting.

I've started going to a support group for people with Fibromyalgia.  I'm realizing how much it affects my life, in ways I didn't necessarily see (or admit) before.  I am also realizing how much I do accomplish, though my pace is a lot slower, in spite of the pain and fatigue.  As long as I can put into action all of the things I've learned in the past 5 years, I should be able to get this under some sense of control.

During the meeting, I almost cried.  I kept it inside, because I am not emotionally comfortable with being vulnerable in a group of strangers at a coffee shop.  Keeping it inside is not the best idea, I just couldn't get over my ego, I guess.  There was a sense of camaraderie.  There was a bonding sensation, though my guard remained up and solid. 

There was no 12-step style of meet-n-greet.  After fifteen/twenty minutes, the organizer asked us new folks to introduce ourselves, but that was the only time she asked for the group's attention.  We did not even go around the circle to hear everyone's name.  Felt awkward.  The pendulum kept swinging from an emotion of, "I belong here and can relate with these people," and "What am I doing here?  Is it time to go, yet.  Oh, look - a magazine about pain management.  I'll hold it up and block my face while I skim through."

The only soap box I stood on was in support of medical marijuana.  I may have stepped on a few toes, as that conversation caused almost half of the group to decide it was time to leave.  Granted, the meeting seems to be unstructured and the time it is over was around the time these people left.  However, there was no formal ending at all.  People just began to gather their things and walk away.  Once again: awkward.

As they were leaving, I gave someone my card and had them write down the NORML website. I wonder if the topic will come up again, or if I'll catch any guff for talking about it.  I don't really know what to think of it all.  I have committed to going to every Friday meeting in April, but if I am not all cozy and comfy and able to express myself, I will find another group in May.

Support groups have always been a fearful concept, but an intriguing one.  I'm very curious about fears, in general.  That's probably what initiates some of my trysts with adventure.  In this time of preparation for medical school, I am actively pursuing fear.  I want to chase it down and make it plead for mercy before I let it go to haunt another soul.  I cannot kill fear, only conquer it.  In all forthrightness, it isn't even an aggressive pursuit.  It is a pursuit of learning to love myself.  Love that fear away... embrace it and hug it until I conquer it.

It makes me so mad, though!  I feel pissed off about all of the things I fear to do because of Fibromyalgia and the current condition of my body/mind.  I am angry about how messy my house gets, because cleaning every day is painful and doing certain things really aggravates the pain.  The frustration comes along when planning to go hiking, camping, kayaking, dancing, shopping, walking, or any other sustained physical activity.  The frustration comes from the limits I have to place on myself.  The limits come from fear of the pain I know will come and the fear of a random injury that hurts way more than it should. 


I am curious to find out what other people in the group do to continue living the life they want to live.  It may be that they don't.  They might just take pills, or other medication, and sleep through most of their life.  That's what the doctors basically had me do, back when I was diagnosed.  That's a big part of why I do not have a doctor right now.  I don't feel like someone will really listen to me.  I go to a student clinic, but the student will change every time, so nobody gets to know me or my body.  This is okay in a pinch, but I need something more personally attentive.  That's all about money, though, and insurance... and the fact I don't have it.

Whatever, this is the beginning of the exploration of group therapy.  I hope it gets better than today.

Today's Be-you-tiful Tip

I woke up without as much pain as "normal".  Still have symptoms of the cold, like wet coughing and a little sniffle.  Glorious morning! I felt less achy than any day in the past week.  Energy on level 6, instead of level 2.  With the excitement of winning a scratch-off lottery, I went to work in the garden and did a load of laundry and organized my bedroom closet explosion.  I drank enough water.  I had a smoothie for breakfast.

My commitment of going to the personal trainer was solid.  I made up my mind before leaving.  She would have to tell me to go home (because of the cough/sniffle) and I would not easily comply  No need.. She didn't argue a bit; she modified my workout.  When leaving the gym, I noticed the healthy grocery store catty-corner.  Went shopping.  Found great stuff on clearance.  Bought the non-produce staples.  This inspired me to go to the local farmer's market (Superstition on Main) where I bought pounds and pounds (6 full grocery bags) of fresh produce.  Spent less than $55 in total (grocery + market).  Felt great about my healthy lifestyle promoting choices.  An endorphin rush gave me the energy to enjoy the whole experience. 

Arrived home in time to make a simple delicious dinner and get ready for the night's activities.   I am involved in an ASU study called Gains In Fibromyalgia Treatment (GIFT).  It was the first meeting and I wanted to feel as confident as I could when I met these new potential friends.  I dressed in comfortable, brightly colored, and flattering clothing.  I put on some make-up and jewelry, properly adorning myself in unique pieces that may strike conversation.  Feeling as pretty as I can feel, I decided it was time to send a picture to my sweetheart (who lives many hundreds of miles away) so he could see my smile when I call.  It turned out so much better than I could have hoped at the time.

Today, I saw it again and decided to mess with it, using the app Pixlr-o-matic.  LOVE IT!  I was able to accent the picture to make it look just how I wanted.  That's my tip:

Take a picture of yourself when you're feeling especially confident.  In your mind, imagine looking in the eyes of the person who you love the most.  The one who loves the you that it takes awhile to get to know.  That's the beautiful smiling face you want to show the world.  You don't even have to be textbook (symmetric) pretty to get a good picture of yourself!  Your beauty makes the picture pretty.


And light.  You need decent lighting.

Uphill Battle

Sick.  Always sick.  That's how it feels, anyway.  I swear I have spent at least one week out of the past 9 months sick with migraines, headaches, hives, digestion issues, and depression.  This, on TOP of the pains from chronic fatigue, Fibromyalgia, and PCOS.  I feel out of whack and crumpled.

New plan?
Not really.
Apply for The Biggest Loser, even though I hold some sort of love/hate relationship with that show?
Maybe when Season 14 starts casting, I will just throw my name in the barrel and see...

What really sucks is that I forget I was sick.  Not like I don't remember feeling crappy, but I forget how much that crappy feeling affects productivity.  The first day I feel okay - I have enough energy to do SOMETHING other than sit, shower, and get in maybe an hour of low impact exercise - the first day I have motivation, this horrible inner dialogue screams, "What have you been doing?  You have so much to do and you are only this far?  Why are you wasting days?"  A slew of other attacks fly in at warp speed.  "You're not dying.  Why can't you get motivated to do the laundry, clean the dishes, work in the garden, read books for school... You're fat and ugly and people don't like you very much.  You're too sensitive.  Why are you always crying?"  I can deflect many of the hurtful and antagonistic remarks, as I have learned to fight back against self-abuse.  Well, fight back more than I used to fight.  The thing is, sometimes I just can't get a grip on myself.  Feelings of being out of control are quickly spanked into submission by feelings that I have the freedom to control everything in my life.  (Neither is completely true.)  Then, I'm mad at myself for allowing a lazy version of me to take over.  COMPLETELY FORGETTING I AM NOT LAZY, I AM SICK AND I NEED REST, FOOD, AND LOVE!

Despite all of this, I trudge onward.  I teach my fitness classes and I see my personal trainer and take extra classes at the gym.  I buy healthy foods and try not to let them wilt and mold away into financial and physical waste.  I set goals and buy workouts and try to do them... and sometimes succeed.  I have finally gotten myself into a sliding scale program at a Naturopathic Medical Center.  I start group therapy for Fibromyalgia sufferers on Thursday.  I'm slowly and painfully putting one foot in front of the other and digging my heels into the soil of this metaphorical mountain of possible success.  To reach the summit would mean living in management of my chronic conditions.  Eating regularly - and healthfully.  Drinking plenty of water (that's not too tough for me, really).  Accomplishing the ability to support myself independently, not only financially, but also emotionally and physically. 

I make calls for resolve to myself all the time.  What gives?  Is this how it goes?  A journey that feels like one step forward, two steps back, then two jumps ahead, only to land on a rock and have to take time to heal... again?

I have to keep progressing.  Even if it is slow.  My only New Year's resolution was:  Continual personal progress.  Isn't that what I am doing?  I think so. 

Vent.

Today, I found out that I need to make A's on 3 quizzes and my final in order to pass O-Chem (seriously?!).  After spending 5 hours waiting in line to wait in a chair to wait in a cubicle, I was denied "nutrition assistance" because I am a student, but I do not work more than 20 hours per week. (I now need to log at least 20 hours per week working towards increasing my revenue from my business, Behrs Necessities. Then, I can apply after a month of logging and hope for the best.)   I was denied "medical assistance" because I am a single adult with no living children.  This means I still cannot afford the allergen elimination diet the doctor wants me to eat and the hives are still attacking.  (I did have a few days of relief, due to my friend who took me grocery shopping.  It took over a week of elimination to get a few day's relief of the hives.  They're back.) 

It has been a rough day and I'm feeling pretty discouraged.  I am simply thankful for the two guys from church that came over and weeded my yard.  Most of all, I am thankful for the love of my sweetheart who helps me stay as positive as possible during this seriously low point in our life together/apart. 

Stumbling Into Greatness

I don't know how I arrived here.  Passing whims of starting a blog quickly faded with a changing mood or forgetful lapse.  Silently coerced by family and friends, with their various inspirational dribbling on cyber napkins for everyone to read... or maybe not everyone.  I'm sure I picked up the pen wireless keyboard, with the intention of starting a new blog, at least a dozen times.  I created an online secret anonymous journal and a gut-wrenchingly candid website from earlier years, before blogging was blogging, really.  I'm not even one hundred percent sure what I plan to document or vent or share or communicate or who will possibly decide to peak into my corner of the bloggosphere and give two craps about what I have to say.  I just know, I'm still hurling along at a snail's pace and there needs to be some sort of expression, other than my over-dependance of Facebook gratification, to get out some of this brain fodder. 

I don't know how I arrived here.  Pulling myself out of one disgusting life consequence after another, I ended up finding myself creating myself in Ohio.  Well, rather I took the goop of clay I had become and began to mold myself into the vessel I happen to be now.  I still refuse the kiln, as I am never good enough to be considered art.  I'm never as good as my imagination and my imagination never compares with the beauty in reality, so I get stuck in a state of mishap and mystery. 

I don't know how I arrived here.  Pragmatic personal pollution of perplexing propaganda.  I dreamed of becoming a massage therapist and ended up on my way to becoming a doctor.  I planted roots and thought I'd be in Ohio for years and years, but I'm sleeping in Arizona every night.  I have the soul of a vagabond, but I own more possessions than I can sell.  I fancy myself a student, but I procrastinate studying as if it is going to physically wound me.  Somehow, I pull a great feat of motivation out from somewhere deep in my marrow and I create a resemblance of an educated mind.  I cannot quite figure out how to stop tripping over myself, literally and figuratively, but I end up a few inches ahead each time (without or without blood stains and bruises).  For all of the misery I find to swallow, I end up burping rainbows.  I guess there's a market for that parlor trick, but mostly it keeps me feeling like I'm stumbling into greatness.