Breathe. Cry. Breathe. Sigh. Sob.
My heart is cracking into a million pieces. I’m losing sight of myself. Or am I gaining myself. Is this the fire of change? Or torment. Transition? Or crucifixion. My heart, it pounds. Faster, faster, ever faster. It’s going to beat out of my chest. Will someone be there to pick it up? Longing. Pain. Sadness. Weight of a million worlds, a million tears, a thousand years of hurt, on my heart. My poor, breaking heart. My heart, who has given its all, has been deserted. It longs to be picked up, and nurtured, and held, and loved. Only I can hold my heart right now. It is so very lonely. Alone. Just me and my heart. It was breaking for so long, and it has finally broken. How will I find all its pieces so that I might put it together again. Pain, aching, breaking. So many tears. Tears of loss. Tears of not being someone’s center. Of living on the outskirts of their universe. Do you know how lonely that is? Living outside the bubble of someone’s happiness? Forever floating in the waters of uncertainty, never to be thrown a life raft. Their boat has sailed away. I must continue floating, searching, hoping for rescue. Keep swimming until I reach the shore. Any shore. I yearn to have solid ground under my feet. That is all I ask for. Solid ground.
Tag Archives: pain
Breathe. Cry. Breathe. Sigh. Sob.
My mind and body are screaming in horror and agony. The end is closing in on me. I will not survive.
At least this is what it feels like. I try to tell myself that this is not real, that this is not really happening, that everything is okay and that I am safe. It’s not helping. I feel like a cow that’s being dragged to slaughter. It knows its own fate even before seeing it.
Why do I perpetually feel this way? What has happened in my life to create these feelings in me that I’m heading, overcome by terror, toward my death. That I will not survive.
Screaming in agony.
I know these. But how? Why? What has happened in my life that I would know such terror?
I want to know and yet the answers are eluding me.
To my body and mind,
I want to know. Please tell me what it is you’ve been trying to tell me. I can feel this horror, this unbelievable pain, this sheer terror. I can feel it. I am experiencing it, with no reprieve. Can you not share with me the source of these things? I want to know. I can handle it. I feel ready to handle it. I want answers. I want my life to make sense. Right now it doesn’t make any sense. Right now I can’t think of a time in my life when I’ve ever been truly terrified. I want to know the source – of all this pain, of all this fear, of all this torment. I want to know. I am ready. Please please let me know what it is that you are trying to tell me with these flooded feelings and sensations. This is my life. And I want to know. I want to know so that I may heal. Please please tell me what it is so we can all heal from it and move forward. Because if I don’t know the source of these feelings, the healing can’t happen, plain and simple. I may not have been ready before, but I am ready now. I am tired of feeling like an emotional punching bag. One emotion punches me from one angle; another emotion from another angle. It’s truly exhausting, and I don’t feel we have to live this way. We deserve better. We deserve to be free from this torment. We deserve to live. We deserve to heal. We deserve peace.
I’m trying to cling with all my might to okay, even though I know I’m far from okay. I’m nowhere near okay.
Why does my therapist keep saying that things are “shifting”? I don’t think anything is shifting. I’m not learning anything about myself. I’m not feeling any forward movement. The only thing I feel is as though I were stuck in mental purgatory with no escape. Is that “progress”? Is that “things shifting”? And if things were shifting, wouldn’t it shift into something else besides this pure and utter hell I’ve been living in for these last couple weeks? How does she see what I’m going through as progress. I really don’t get it. I just don’t. I’ve felt these things before, it’s not like it’s anything new. Sadly, I thought my days of feeling this awful were over. I was sadly wrong. Perhaps her thinking these are “good signs” is just a way for herself to feel better, to not feel like she’s totally helpless or that our therapy is not benefitting me in the slightest but could in fact be making me worse.
How the hell is therapy helping? It’s gotten to the point where I spend most of the session with her dissociated and unable to speak. How is that progress??????
Pain, again, is swallowing me whole
Being sucked under
I am drowning
Nowhere is safe
No one is safe
Nothing is safe
Even my body is betraying me
The fear, the panic
Eating away at my very core
Screaming from the inside
Unable to escape
Yet how does one
Escape one’s own body
Need to numb, nothing to numb
I am left
With this gripping fear
With this panic that steals my peace
With with pain that steals my soul
On the outside, I’m doing great. Things are going well with my partner. Things are going well with my therapist. I had a good first day back at work. (Little Guy has grown so much!) Yet why is there this haunting feeling. Dread. Pushing. Aching. Insides hurting.
I don’t know. I also don’t know how I can appear to seem as “okay” as I am. I suppose that’s what I’ve done my whole life. Pretended I’m okay. When I’m really not.
If I’m not okay, then what am I?
Good question Brandic. I wish I knew.
I feel like I’m holding off a storm. That I’m like some weather god in the sky, forcing the storm back with my will. I won’t allow it to come. But why? I suppose, who wants a storm?
My therapist Bean left for a trip today and will return Sunday. Then I see her Monday, and then she leaves again on Wednesday for a whole week. I’ve been not allowing myself to think about her absence. But I think it’s affecting me. To what extent, I’m not sure.
Why do I cling so strongly to okay? Why do I try so hard to maintain this image of normality? (I borrowed this phrase from Feral55 – I hope you don’t mind Feral!) I want to be able to let go. To drop this image of okay. To allow myself to become a mess and to fall apart. To allow these body sensations to tell me something. To listen inside, however painful it might be.
And yet I can’t. I just can’t do it. It’s like telling someone who has walked on their feet their whole life to begin walking on their hands. I can’t see it happening. My whole being wont allow it to happen.
I long for the day where I can not be okay, and that it will be okay.
Pain washes over me like waves. When each wave of pain recedes, bubbling rage is there to greet me. Pain, rage, pain, rage, pain, rage.
I had my appointment with Bean today. For the most part, I sat hiding behind my balled-up sweatshirt, having been triggered into a very fearful state upon hearing the sound of a car crash just outside the window of Bean’s office. I can hardly remember what we talked about, which is unusual for right after the session. Usually it takes a good day or two for it to leak out of my conscious memory – like most everything else. I must’ve been very dissociated.
The pain and the rage are trying to drown me. And as if that weren’t enough, interspersed with these other feelings is a nagging feeling of panic.
I’m also getting waves of chills taking over my body, and I’m not even cold. When that happens, it’s a sure way for me to know something is really wrong.
If only I knew what it was…
The following is an email I sent my therapist about an hour ago:
Hi [Bean]. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. My body is pushing and hurting and crying out. Not in my mind but in my cells. It’s horribly uncomfortable and makes me feel like I’m going crazy. Or that I want to go crazy.
These body memories – I know what they are now! – are killing me. Not literally (obviously) but I don’t know how much more of it I can take. Quite honestly I don’t know what to do. This pain is a pain that hurts me on a cellular level. I can take a lot. But this is beginning to feel like more than I can handle. I need relief. And I have no idea how to get it.
The only good thing is that it seems to let up in the mornings and evenings. It’s the afternoons that are unbearable. But in the mornings I’m so exhausted from my chronic insomnia, and in the evenings I’m often dealing with some other emotional conflict. Usually my time at work, with the child I care for, is a welcome break from all my psychological crap. Usually I can be with him and enjoy him, and for the most part he is a wonderful and delightful distraction.
Since last week, it takes every ounce of energy I have to give him my full attention. My body is screaming out in agonizing pain and it’s trying to take over complete control of my mind. Part of my attention is on him, and part is on the discomfort and pain and anguish in my body. It’s pretty much impossible to ignore it completely – despite the fact that I’m quite good at ignoring pain. This is the worse type of pain. It’s not purely physical and it’s not purely emotional. It’s emotional pain trying to push its way out of my body. And I really don’t know how much more I can take.