A Crack in the Armor Shows the Silver Lining

If you read last week's post, you may have gathered that I got called out pretty harshly. Part of my issue had been my reluctance to share more openly in groups. I was fond of saying, "I'm not comfortable discussing ______ here," or "I don't want to talk about ______ right now." Apparently that sort of refusal to disclose shows two things to the treatment team: 1) I simply don't want to participate, and 2) I believe I am "terminally unique" (a bit of psychology jargon meaning that I don't believe the rules apply to me as they do to everybody else). I was mad as hell upon hearing that, but after a bit of pouting and stomping of feet, I took the feedback in.

The fact is, the team was right on both accounts. I didn't want to participate in certain conversations because to do so would mean facing thoughts and feelings at which I had no desire to look. Also, I really did play the terminally unique card. Often. I was stellar at giving constructive feedback that I would never apply to my own life. I must have been a very obnoxious client.

So I took what I heard, and I used it. For the last week, I have completely thrown myself into groups and therapy. I have forced myself to be totally open to all of the activities and conversations, many of which made me profoundly uncomfortable. Case in point: last night in group, we had what is called a "Shame Circle." All the clients sit in a circle with a stack of paper. We go around the circle and admit something aloud that we are ashamed of, then we crumple the paper and symbolically throw the shame away. Let me tell you... there is nothing quite as terrifying to me as sharing my shame with others. That's the nature of shame; it makes you want to hide, to lie, to cover up. This kind of activity flies in the face of all the work I've done to block my shame for years.

I cried. Good God, did I cry. Each time my turn came around, I dug deep and gave a voice to things that have plagued me for years. "I am ashamed of being a financial burden on my family." "I am ashamed of being a bad influence on my children." "I am ashamed that I have never been as dedicated to anything as I have been to hurting myself." Ouch. And it wasn't just me; every person in that room was eviscerating their innermost secrets. The emotion was palpable. Even our steadfast therapy staff were having a hard time keeping it together.

After the group was over, a funny thing happened. I was okay. I hurt, and very deeply... but I was okay just the same. I allowed myself to feel whatever came over me, and didn't fight it with my usual defensive fervor. To put it plainly, I did what I have been taught to do. I went home, I spent time with my family, I went to bed. I got up this morning in a cheerful mood.

Listen, friends. This therapy shit WORKS. I've spent a decade in and out of treatment, in and out of therapy, repeatedly refusing to be open to the possibility that things could ever improve. Guess what? Once I finally laid my weapons down and listened, and spoke honestly, things actually began to get better. Imagine that.

Stuck

Have you ever had somebody call bullshit on you?
Had somebody hold up a mirror to you
and you don't know whether to scream or run or sit and take it like a man
or stand and fight, let the punches fall where they land
So maybe I'm dramatic
or a fucking fanatic
or maybe I'm just good at it
and I gotta be good at something

This is my life, not some TV movie
the shit that happened molded and moved me
So maybe I'm not a well-adjusted girl
Maybe I don't live in a well-adjusted world
I think I deserve to be a little bit mad
at God for all the shit that I never had
And I think I deserve to throw some punches around
Hope they connect with the throats of those who held me down

So yeah, this is me and I don't know what I want
Don't know who I am or what life that I want
I just know I'm sick and tired of all of this lying
Mad as hell that I can't seem to stop crying
Maybe I needed to be called out to reality
Maybe I had to see that it all comes back to me
It's a choice and I fucking hate making choices
I'd rather be a real crazy out chasing voices
that aren't there, but I'm there, and life isn't fair
Sometimes I just wanna close my eyes
and pretend it's not real
But it is, it always has been, and right now I feel
stuck.

A Letter to My Old Friend

To My Dear Old Friend:

I think this is finally good-bye. You have been my constant companion for half my life, and leaving you behind is anything but easy. I lost another best friend once; he turned on me just as you have. It aches in my bones now as it did then.

Remember when we first teamed up, you and I? You were the answer to a thousand lonely, desperate prayers. You were my escape from a hellish misery with which I was unequipped to deal. I convinced my child-self that you were my only path to redemption.

Oh, how you came through for awhile. At first, people validated my hard work. Then, later on when you had dissolved my body like acid, they sat up and took notice of my suffering. No one had ever done that before. My body was crying out in the pain my voice had kept silent for so many years.

As in any good tragedy, the relationship began to sour. You grabbed the reins, and took the control you promised would be mine. I became your battered spouse: in danger if I stayed, but too terrified to leave, still convinced things could go back to the way they were at the beginning.

I know better now. I see you for the parasite you really are, and I will be your host no longer. My voice, which got so hopelessly lost, is finally finding its way back. I can make it without you. I will miss you, and I am grateful that I had you at a time when I had nothing else to see me through. But I am stronger now, and getting better every day. My power no longer comes from you; it comes from within me.

Good bye,
Cassie

Radical Acceptance

One of the skills being taught at my outpatient program is called "Radical Acceptance." The idea is that the refusal to accept reality is what leads to suffering (and while pain is inevitable, suffering is a choice). In order to overcome your own suffering, you must accept your reality: be it your disease, your family dysfunction, your trauma, whatever. A distinction that has been made (to me in particular) is that acceptance is NOT the same as approval. You can strongly disapprove of a situation, but still accept that it is reality.

I can't do it. Yet, anyway. Or maybe I WON'T do it. There are some "realities" in my life that I simply will not accept. I demand to know why these things have happened, and without a crystal clear explanation (from whom? from God? I don't know...) I won't concede anything.

Kind of a problem. I have my behaviors under control. I'm doing everything that's asked of me, miserable as it makes me feel sometimes. I am trusting the recovery process. But I just can't do the radical acceptance thing.

Shit. Guess I'm stuck for awhile.

Soliloquy

O how it stings when the knife twists.
My hot tears carve a path down
the soft curve of my cheek.
It seems that the pain may never end.
Shakespeare had it right:
"To die, to sleep -- to sleep,
perchance to dream..."
For in my sleep of death the dreams that
come bring no relief.
My pillow bears the weight of
a thousand violations.
Who says nightmares can't hurt me?
My memories are vengeful warriors
and sleep their battleground.
My only hope for victory is to awaken;
ay, there's the rub: for in that
blissful consciousness lies the promise
of another bloody night of war.