Feeling bad. Really bad.

[Asche]

Going full-time has been wonderful in many ways.  When I'm happy, I'm really happy.

But it hasn't exactly eliminated the lows.  Today is one of those days when I keep getting hit with an awful pain, like simply having to be alive and conscious is too painful to bear, and I wish that someone would just kill me so I wouldn't have to suffer any more.  I can't say why exactly, just that when it hits, it's like the pain and awfulness and despair just overload every circuit in my soul.  I clench my fists, or hold my head and rock and moan, or I bite my knuckles to distract myself.  Usually it only lasts a few minutes, but sometimes I get it in waves, over and over for hours.

My guess is this is me feeling what I felt when I was a child, so I've been calling them "emotional flashbacks."  Except that as a child I dissociated most of the time so I didn't consciously feel all of it, and when I could, I went somewhere else in my mind where I was no longer aware of the Hell of my life, of past or future, or even my own existence.  Later, all that pain went into the 11-year-old child I carried inside me, whose existence I was often aware of but whose pain I only felt second-hand.  That child is no longer there, I think I've integrated him (her?) into me, and now I'm intermittently feeling that pain first-hand.

Who can you tell of that pain?  Who, if anyone, is willing to listen?  And how can you express it so that that "who" might have an idea of what it's like?  I know silence = death, I've died enough.  So often when I try to talk about it, the pain ends up feeling unheard and hides itself away until the next time I'm alone and my interpersonal personality isn't running the show.  It's almost like my pain is an alter that comes out, like a vampire, in the dark when I'm alone and torments me, except that it's not trying to torment me, it simply wants to be healed and this is how it cries, the way a baby with colic cries unconsolably.  And I cry with it, but only inside, because I lost the capacity to cry on the outside a long time ago.

[SailorMars1994]

I am so sorry girl! congrats on coming out though.

I am a bit of a mess in everything right now, so take my words with a grain of salt. You must relize that you have gone a very long time hiding who you are, and only recently have allowed for your self discover to unfold. Let me tell ya, when i lived as Ashley (who i am right now as a matter of fact) it was GREAT! i felt and feel quite good (well minus the cold i feel coming on). However, no matter how great and rewarding transition is it does not negate all the other negative emotions you are experiencing. I would beg you to see a therapist over these low episodes. You have been around for 63 years, it will take some work but if you can unlock the girl in you after this long, you can do it. i am sure of it!

- Ashley xoxo

[LordKAT]

Ashe,

I can understand what you are going through. I have very similar things happen. For me, it is more of a PTSD type of issue. I don't know if you ever tried to talk to  your therapist about it, but doing so may help.

Mine, in part, as more of living in a thick stone tower. One 'day' the tower crumbled and all those feelings hit at once. At times I still hear screams that no one else hears. I really don't know what I can say but I do want you to know that you aren't the only one who suffers. It can be eased and worked through.

[Tessa James]

Just want you to know that your voice is heard and that someone cares.  We have awful pain to face and diminish.

[Michelle_P]

Asche, just let it out here.  We definitely know this experience, and I think we all hate going through these bad patches.

It is one of the daemons that drives me forward and fuels my activism.  I never want another child to go through what I did.

I wish there was a way I could take the pain away. You're letting it out, letting it go, and that is all anyone can do.  Just remember that you have had good days, you have known happiness, and the bad stuff will pass.  There will be more good days ahead.


Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk

[Asche]

I'm seeing a therapist who specializes in trauma treatment, but it's slow.  To give it a diagnosis, it's complex PTSD (Judith Herman's term) or DTD (developmental trauma disorder -- van der Kolk), and everyone says it takes a long time to treat it.  The whole "no one you felt safe with" thing.  "Disordered attachment," which was probably in full swing by the time I was 2, from what very little I can remember and what I've been told.  I do know that I cannot recall a time when I felt I could trust that my mother (or my father) would be there for me if I needed them; if anything, I remember frequent situations where they made it plain by their actions that they would not, and it continued until the day they died.  I grew up experiencing that there was no one who would not reject me and put me down, especially if I let them know anything of what was going on inside me, so I learned to put up a false front and live without emotional support.  It's only in the past year that I've started trying to reach out to people in real life, and it's terrifying.

I'm still surprised I never carried out any of the suicide plans I thought up over those years.  I guess dissociation saved me -- by the time I could have actually gotten myself to do it, I'd managed to be mentally somewhere else (or nowhere at all.)  One time in therapy I dissociated in the way I think I did as a child, and it was really weird.  For about 15 minutes, I couldn't think where I was or what had just happened.  I would get to the end of a sentence and have no idea what I'd just said.  My therapist got me to describe a picture and I was unaware of anything except describing the picture.  I kind of knew I knew all those things, but my mind refused to let me think of them.  I think that, back then, being me and being in my life were so painful that my mind tried to make me unaware of them as often and as much as I could, just to protect me.  I can't imagine why the grown-ups thought me inattentive and forgetful .

[Amanda_Combs]

It makes sense to me that you would hurt so bad.  And surely, it feels so unbearable when it strikes because you just have so much to deal with.  It's ok, though.  If you feel that you could talk about your pain forever because there is so much, that's ok.
   Personally, I feel fear that trying to express my feelings will get too repetitive and be too difficult for those around me to listen to.  But I want you to know that I would be glad to listen to you as much and as frequently as you need, because I understand what it is like to keep feeling that there is more you need to express.  Never be afraid to talk with me about anything.  I'll always be willing to listen and would very much like to help you.
     I hope that you are always finding more and more happiness, untill the pain seems small in comparison.  In the meantime I'm here and I care about you.


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[MissGendered]

Hi Asche..

Oh my, hun, I am so sorry you have these things to deal with also. I have C-PTSD, and DID, to boot. I know why these things develop, and how they are treated, and I have been through the treatments, too. But knowledge is just thoughts, and though thinking cam empower us, that power does not always protect us from the darkness within, does  it?

You seem pretty self-aware and well-informed, and you are heading down the right road therapeutically. That is a LOT of good stuff in your corner already. You have tools, and skills, and the desire for wellness. That is a LOT, also...

I hear you. I know me saying such things is just type on a screen at moments when the shadows creep in. I still have those moments, too, even after all the therapy and all the congratulations for having 'come so far'. And in those moments, my cries still feel unheard, just as yours do. I get it.

I don't know what happened to you exactly that has left these reminders in your mind and body, but I know the kind of things that can cause them, I know them first hand. My many alters also saved and protected me and kept me from stepping in front of buses and trucks as a child, and from all my plans later in life. Even with all the pain, and suffering, and loneliness, and emptiness, I am still grateful that my others saved me from myself. I am grateful that you have others or otherness to save you, too. Our brains are our best friends, hun, when nobody hears our cries, our brains listen, and we are helped.

I wish I could give you a big, long, warm hug, and rock a little with you, and maybe even cry a bit with you, too, so you can feel that you are connected to the rest of us, and that you matter, and that we care, and are on the same page. I care. I really do. I cannot stand to see another person in pain, when your heart breaks, so does mine. And that's okay. It really is. I can handle it...

If you ever want to talk about anything, if you ever just want somebody that will listen, PM me. I will respond as soon as I am able, and you can cry all you want with me. Okay?

I mean it. Any time.

I hope you are in a better place by now, but if you aren't, here I am...

Much love, hun, and lots of safe, warm hugs, too.

Missy

[Amanda500]

Asche, tell us about your pain. Perhaps you could put it into poetic imagery or an actual drawing in crayon.

Our story is like yours in many ways. Our father was abusive and our mother was paralyzed by anxiety and compulsions so that even though she wanted to be there for us, she could not be when we really needed someone. We know those days when Maleme is trying to code and the pain from me or Little One wells up and overwhelms us for a few minutes and we dissociate until it goes back underground. Even writing this is tricky because thinking about those times in forming sentences causes us to dissociate a little bit.

We have found that partly because we are so visually oriented and partly because one trauma trifecta hit us when we were 5 through 6, that non-rational approaches work well for us. Rituals and symbolic actions  make things more concrete and less abstract while not experiencing the emotions directly. Little One has a much easier time expressing things through drawing or play with toy animals or creating things with play doh than talking. We practice imagining what it feels like for Maleme to be there there for us the way our parents were not. You will have to figure what works for you since your little one was older.

To the few people who know about us, I tell about the image of us living our life as if there is a party in the main room while we are watching it while hiding in a darkened room way down the hall with the door nearly closed so that we can hear a little bit of what goes on and see snatches things, but no one knows we are there. Carrying on a conversation while dissociating is like trying to talk through the door to the other room. We have a hard time receiving what others are saying and what we say gets garbled by the distance.

Another image we have is how we were when Maleme started reconnecting with us. Imagine a dark valley under dark clouds on a cold night with a haunted forest with a howling wind. The leafless trees seem alive with evil intent and unkown creature flit about threateningly in the dark. That is where I-Amanda was. Now go deeper into the deepest, darkest part of the valley. That is we we found Little One, curled up in a fetal position at the bottom of a 100 foot (~30m, thanks Maleme  ) deep hole he dug so that nothing could ever reach him to hurt him again. Over the whole, there was a giant monster man trying to reach down and eat him.

I-Amanda hope that you find our sharing helpful. We are here whenever you need someone to reach out to.

[Asche]

Not so many of the bad attacks today, but I've spent the day feeling pretty emotionally tired and physically achy, sort of like when I have the flu (I've noticed that I can't tell the difference between being sick and being depressed -- they feel the same.)  I wanted to take a nap, but we were waiting for the Verizon repair to fix our phone (I discovered it was out yesterday morning.)  They were supposed to come in the morning, but at noon I learned that due to various screw-ups they might not come, and then they said they'd come in the afternoon.  They actually showed at around 4:30 p.m. and finished at around 6:00.  So no nap, but at least I got a working phone out of it.

A lot of the time when I feel this way, it's like too much is being asked of me and I want my mommy to come and help me make sense of it when I'm confused and hold and comfort me and take care of everything when it's all just too much for me.  Only there's no mommy and I'm all alone with it.  Just like when I was 10.  Or 6.  Probably even when I was 2.  And what was asked of me then was way more than anyone has a right to expect of a 10-year-old or 6-year-old or a 2-year-old.

When I tell people how I feel, they mostly just try to reassure me that I can manage it (all by myself), which just makes me feel worse.  I know I can manage it, I've spent my whole life "managing it," and I'm as cautious as a tightrope walker crossing the Grand Canyon with no net.  What I want is recognition for just how tired and lonely and abandoned I feel when I have to manage something hard yet again entirely on my own, when I'm yet again faced with some task that has to be done and won't get done if I don't drag myself out of my longed-for rest and do it.

Am I asking for a pity party?  <expletive deleted> YES!  I'm surrounded by apostles of Health! and Fitness! and Right Thinking! who tell me it's bad for me to sink into pity.  No pity parties, they say, it's unhealthy to dwell on your hurts.  But I've been hurting for 60 years, I think I've earned the right to a <expletive deleted> pity party!  Several, in fact!  I want to allow myself to feel sorry for myself and finally learn to cry again.  (And stop feeling like it's a sign of what a pathetic worthless failure I am.)

I've managed my transition to full-time, I'm sure I'll manage my SRS.  But I wish I could have felt that I had family that I could have relied on to stand by me through it all, rather than the emotional ghosts I've had all my life.  I wish I could learn how to have real stalwart friends who would have stood beside me and made me feel less alone and could have grounded and reassured me whenever I was freaking out.

I'm so tired of doing it all all by myself.

[MissGendered]

Hey, Asche!

Sweetie, you aren't alone, and yes, your feelings are real, and they matter, and nobody can, or should, try to dispense with them. They are yours...

Just wanted to tell you again that I have felt similar things, for similar reasons, and though you are doing things alone, I have too, as have others like us.

Funny, how often those of us without real parenting want nothing more than to help re-parent others like ourselves. I was also a child that was let down, is so many ways, now I have to fight the urge to try to be there for everybody and  anybody, it's the helpless wanting to be saviour thing, I guess..

But I meant it, PM me is you ever want to compare notes, or whatever.

Missy

[Asche]

Never a dull moment when you're a mom (even a mom-2.)  Elder child (26) just -- well, let's just say: was sick and just got sicker.  Time for some clean-up and looking around for an urgent care center for them for tomorrow morning.

When you're a mom, the buck stops here.

(Good thing it happened to me and not Mom-1 -- she freaks out about illness.  Me, I just echo the thoughts of the pot of petunias in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: "here we go again.")

Guess I won't get my beauty sleep tonight, either.

[flytrap]

My heart goes out to you, Asche. I have been in therapy for my DID for almost 8 years. I understand the numbness when I dissociate and one of the other 5 alters in my brain takes over. And the helpless feeling that comes with knowing someone is crying. To be aware of their pain but not what is is about. And not being able to do anything to relieve their suffering.

You HAVE earned the right for self compassion. As much as it hurts, that you are "intermittently feeling that pain first-hand" is a sign you are healing. That even if you are no longer aware of her, the the 11-year-old child inside you feels safe enough to start to share her feelings.

[Asche]

Just an update.

It turns out I was coming down with influenza.  (Yes, the real thing.)  I stopped feeling depressed by Sunday, mostly because I was feeling physically miserable instead and surviving thanks to heavy doses of paracetamol (Tylenol) and pseudoephedrine.  I didn't go out the door of my apartment for three days, and I'm still not really recovered.

But the feelings were real.  It's just that most of the time, I'm strong enough and busy enough that they stay below the surface.  But when I'm "running on fumes," I can't ignore them.  And on days when my brain is actually functional, I'm more aware of all the fears I usually push aside: that I'll never be accepted for who I am, that people just tolerate me to be polite, that I'll fall and never be able to get back up.  It's made worse when I'm by myself for long periods of time.  (My kids are there, but they're kind of not there, too.)

I guess when you've been hurt for so long and so young, the wounds never really go away.

[Tessa James]

That flu going around has been awful.  Glad you are feeling somewhat recovered. 

That hurt you acknowledge is also terribly real.  Got me thinking that bandaids do so little and imagining my mom's directive to stop picking at the scabs or I'll cause a scar.

How do we resolve hurts and restore ourselves?  Going to take more than a mom-2 kiss on our ouchie spots maybe...

Yes, no dull moments and no end to the daily dramas.

[Asche]

Anyway, to blither a little further:

Yesterday I got a clearer picture of what the flashback is.  It's terror, dread, and the intense anxiety that comes from being on the edge of some unimaginably horrible fate which I can only avert by focussing more attention than I have and never making an unsure or incorrect step; I described it as being like crossing the Grand Canyon on a bridge that consists of a single narrow, warped plank.

It's pretty obviously how I felt when I was a child.  I was judged by standards which I had no hope of meeting (now that I've had kids, I know how impossible they were) and emotionally abused and punished for every misstep and told that I could perfectly well meet them, I was just being willfully disobedient in failing.  Add to that the experience from infancy that those who I depended upon for my safety and to feed and clothe and shelter me could not be relied upon and had made a point of showing me that they would not protect me when I really needed them.  It was like those awful experiments where they give some poor animal random shocks which it cannot anticipate or protect itself from, and the poor animal has a nervous breakdown and goes catatonic.  Except instead of shocks, do things which put in terror of its life.

This went on from as far back as I can remember and continued until my mid-teens.  I managed it mostly by dissociating: by, as much as possible, removing myself mentally from the world and putting my conscious mind in a place where neither I nor the world existed.

I think it's this ongoing state of terror which forms the content of my emotional flashbacks.  It makes me aware of just how bad it really was.  I'm not surprised that I was obsessed with suicide, I'm only surprised that I never carried through. 

[KathyLauren]

Wow, I can't imagine what that must be like.

How are you feeling about your new-found clarity on it?  Does it feel like understaning the origin of the feeling will make it easier to deal with?  This sounds like the kind of thing that a good therapist (not necessarily gender-qualified) might be able to help you with.

I wish you well in working through this.

[Rachel]

I am sorry you are reliving the pain over and over again. I hope you can find relief.

I did Gestalt therapy with my first therapist. I use the tools I learned to help me redirect the past into the present with a supportive environment. I use the tools often and it really helps. 

[Asche]

CW: Depressive rant

* * * * *

FWIW, my gender therapist is also trained in trauma treatment.

Getting more clarity isn't exactly helping me to deal with it, but it does make me feel a little less crazy.  But it's still painful and draining.  Yesterday, I was having a lot at work and I took half a Xanax tablet (1/4 mg), but it didn't really help.

This morning, I had the feeling that this is all too much, getting up and having to push all the doubts and the negative thoughts aside and present myself as a woman.  Who am I kidding? is the thought.  I'm nothing but a fat, ugly old man pretending to be a woman.  You're nothing, you're a pathetic freak, you're a failure.  I feel like I've gone overboard in the middle of the Atlantic and am doing my best to keep my head above water, despite the waves that drench me and fill my nose and throat with seawater, and no matter how long I splash, my remaining life will be nothing more than staving off the inevitable.

When I'm feeling strong, I can keep all this stuff at bay: the emotional and mental scars and deformities from the horror of my childhood, the negative messages (past and present) from family and society about who and what I am.  I can feel like life is not only worth living, it's great.  But when I'm tired, when life has worn me down, all that stuff comes back and threatens to drown me.  It's all I can do to keep trudging along hauling great stones in some emotional chain-gang.

[MissGendered]

((HUGS))

Missy