Waking dreams, repeated imagery

It has been a really rough week for me this week. Monday I called in to the office and took an FMLA day, same thing with Friday. I’m not sleeping well at all. For my three “Off days” I couldn’t even tell you that I got decent sleep then, and usually I sleep better when I know I have no obligations the next day.

 I can go to bed and do my normal routine, shower, turn down the lights, meditate, cuddle with the puppy, and take all my prescriptions for sleep, yet somehow I end up staring at the ceiling all night. The big sleep eludes me. I can catch an hour or two here and there, but to get a solid 7 or 8 in a row is totally beyond me at this point. I can be so tired I can’t keep my eyes open, but the minute I lay down in bed my mind is racing and I can’t stop my thoughts or calm them down enough to be able to fall asleep. I can do all the relaxation exercises and meditation I want, but I’ll still just stare up at the ceiling most of the night. Wednesday night, going into Thursday morning, I didn’t even get ten minutes. I laid there and laid there. Forever resisting the urge to get up and pee because I’m convinced I’m too tired and lazy and that I’ll just fall back asleep, but the relief never comes. Eventually I give in and get up to pee.  I return to bed only to repeat the cycle until about 3 am, when I decide it’s useless and get up to watch Star Trek and enjoy a cigarette.

“Baby, you’ve been up this whole time?” my beau asks as he sleepily sits up on the couch, waking upon me changing Netflix from “Are you still watching Futurama?” to Star Trek. He usually sleeps part of the night on the couch and part in the bed. I don’t mind. As long as he’s comfortable he can sleep wherever. A trait I greatly envy.

“I’ve not even had ten minutes,” I reply, exhaling smoke out of my nose as I pull a quilt over my lap and prop the lazy boy chair back. I can hear crickets chirping outside the window, their constant noise as a comfort to me only to be had in those warm summer months. I tried to enjoy their noise as I miss it during the winter. I remember to try to stay in the moment. It is summer, I’m in my hometown, living with my beau, it is 2014 and I haven’t been in that awful place for three years. Going through all my grounding exercises proves to be fruitless. I don’t think I’ll get to sleep at all tonight.

When I do seem to catch some rest, I feel like I have the same dream over and over again. It’s becoming more and more disturbing, because I know what happens in the dream but for the life of me I cannot change the outcome, and in my mind in my dream I’m struggling and screaming, but when I open my mouth there is nothing but a whisper of air that comes out, completely inaudible. According to the beau, I mumble in my sleep and roll around a lot. If he happens to touch me accidentally or even to give me a kiss or something, I’ll immediately shoot up in bed, wide awake. Apparently even to him I’m not getting any rest.

I think the dreams are worse than the insomnia. I'm in my tiny little blue two-seater hatchback. I've since gotten rid of. I'm driving across a sunny Texas landscape, four empty lanes of wide open highway ahead of me. The engine is purring, but struggling to get up to highway speeds. My foot is to the floor pushing the accelerator, but the car only slowly builds up some speed. Semi trucks and other drivers are passing me at frightening speeds, they are just a flash before they're gone and out of my sight. I try to check the passing signs to see if I'm headed in the right direction, but whenever I look, the words seem jumbled or I don't recognize any of the town names.

Sometimes, just peering into the sunny landscape a bright light blinds me and I can't even see to drive, so I slam on the brakes with my hands covering my eyes to try and see beyond the light. It's impossible. My eyes water and I start to become anxious upon realizing I don't know where I am or where I'm supposed to go. I'm seeing some landmarks. I'm not sure if they're from home or Texas or I've dreamed them but they seem to be leading me in the right direction. As I'm driving, I notice my gas gauge is slowly ticking down to the red line. I need to get off this interstate and find a gas station so I begin to slow the vehicle and try to change lanes to get to the exit and access road. Cars are still passing me at lightning speed. I think my car is the slowest car in the world, according to this dream.

 As the CRX lumbers up the hill to the access road from the freeway, the car begins to sputter as it's out of gas. But of course, there is no station in sight so I continue down a block to find one. At this point I'm panicking about the gas and because I'm lost. I decide to turn a corner. And another, and another. Where are all the damn gas stations?? The light still hurts my eyes as I try to open them into the smallest slivers imaginable but the light is still too bright. I'm fumbling in the glove box for my sunglasses. But if I put my sunglasses on, then I can't see to drive! I can't win in this dream.

 But look! At the end of the block! There is a gas station! But it's also the gas station next to the ex's apartment. I've been driving all this way and I've STILL not gotten away from him?? How can this be? I saw an exit for my hometown right down the freeway! How am I still here?!? So I'm panicking in my dream and usually this is the point where I'm so upset in my dream that I wake myself up, or the dream starts all over again. No matter how often I try to change the outcome it's like I'm stuck and once I realize what I'm doing it's all over and no matter what I do I can't change the outcome and I'll always end up outside his apartment building.  I wake up in a cold sweat of reality and try to catch my breath. My adrenal glands pumping away, apparently my lizard brain perceived trouble in that horrible nightmare. I lay back, adjust my pillow, roll around a few times and start to count my breaths. If I fall back asleep it's only a momentary victory, as the dreams seem to continue all through the night.

Another dream I keep having deals a lot with the light in my eyes again. I feel the cold, smooth cement floor under my cheek or under a foot. I try to move or open my eyes but I'm blinded by a massive light when I open my eyes. It's so bright it hurts. I can't feel much of my arms or legs but I feel very trapped. What little I can see, peering through squinted eyes only further onsets the pangs of fear building up in my guts. White sheets, white mattress, white pillowcase, cold gray poured cement. Beige walls and a far away ceiling. I focus on the ventilation ducts running along the side of the wall. Anything to distract myself from the inevitable.

I'm paralyzed and I can't move to even get comfortable. The edge of the mattress sits on my throat at a distressing angle, if much pressure were applied I could easily be choked. I feel his weight on me and the rough stubble of his face on the back of my neck. He feels like sandpaper, his hot breath reminiscent of snot, cheap rum and camel lights. The heaviness of his body and the rough breathing pushes my throat further into the mattress and pushes my temple into the cement, and the top of my head into the wall. He mutters disgusting things about how sweet he thinks my ass is and how good I'm behaving. I am crying, tears are running down my face as the pain builds in my ass with every thrust. I try to scream out but when I open my mouth nothing comes out, not even a whisper. I can't move, I can't get away. I struggle to keep my head positioned where I can breathe, but the force of him keeps knocking me around and begin to feel fuzzy and breathless. I just lay there and hope that he finishes soon. Feeling so absolutely helpless, worthless and unloved. My mind wanders to death. "I want to die" I start to scream. But to no avail only a whisper comes out. By this point the panic in my is to such a high and my adrenal glands are screaming at the rest of my body that I'm jerked wide awake. As if someone dumped me into a cold bath. Reality a welcome relief.  

I'm so fucking sick of playing the victim. It's encroached on every single aspect of my life. Three years ago this took place and I'm still having waking nightmares about it. Fuck him for taking up this much head space. Fuck that I have been through countless hours of therapy just to be able to function and hold down a normal fucking job. I'm angry and I do not know how to channel this rage properly. Some nights I get no sleep. I think it's only fueling the madness because now I'm starting to get panic attacks about going to sleep at night. Then, I stay up too late and I'm an anxious mess the next day at work because I'm so tired that I can barely function. My stomach hurts from the lack of sleep and the constant anxiety. My stomach hurts most of the time, really, but it's worse when I haven't slept. I hate thinking that I was preyed upon and that I fell victim to a fucking narcissistic asshole rapist for the sake of thinking it was a normal, loving relationships.

I think my parents are partially to blame. One's an alcoholic narcissist, the other is an enabler. So I was never raised to see those red flags in toxic relationships. I thought it was normal to have fits of rage every morning because something didn't go right in the narcissist's universe. So when someone came along and told me they'd be good for me, "treats me well" as I knew it at the time, and was willing to spend money on me of course I jumped at the chance. I was stupid and naive, but I was also very very broke, on the verge of being homeless, and very very unhappy, isolated from all family and friends, and desperate for any kind of connection to another human being. Looking back I was so fucking stupid. I hate myself for all those decisions I made. But at the time there was no talking me out of anything, when I made up my mind I did something about it.

Prologue, the "Ex Talk" pt 1

So last night was my beau’s birthday. We had a pretty good day together after I got home from work and we went to his parent’s house to have dinner. It was a good visit with his family and he and I had some awesome exchange on the way home and that evening.  It’s so strange how I worry about how certain conversations would go with him, and always to my surprise, we have a totally normal, rational, in-depth conversation with each other. I feel like after talking with him last night I know him so much better than I did before and I love him much more than before. We had the so-called dreaded “Ex Talk.” Where we were both talking about other relationships that we’d had, usually this conversation has been a big red flag in all my previous relationships where the other person questions my judgment or I magically appear as damaged goods to the one I’m seeing; or any other catastrophe imaginable. Much to my surprise everything went really well. He didn’t judge me and I didn’t judge him. It was a normal, adult, pleasant dialogue.  It was a very meaningful conversation and I feel like after the visit with his parents and the conversation that followed I know him much better than I did before.

 I also accidentally bonded with his step-dad. He’s really big into photographing bands at concerts so I have been trying to geek out about it with him, but he’s very stand-offish. Up until yesterday evening I could count on one hand the number of words we had exchanged in the three years the beau and I have lived together. It felt great to be able to connect with him, and by talking with him I understand my beau so much better than I had before. Just knowing what kind of person he is and how he had to grow up with his step-dad, his mom, his mom’s family and the drama with his bio dad. I feel like I’m part of his family, finally. It’s a great feeling. Even among my own family I feel judged and like I’m not living up to their standards, or that I don’t belong, but around the beau’s family, with as many issues as I do have with them, being judged or feeling like I don’t belong is NOT one of those feelings. Even though he says he’s not ready for marriage, I cannot wait to be a “Mrs.” and be a part of his family legally.  

In all my previous relationships the “Ex Talk” was always something to be avoided. I guess I avoided it with the beau for three years, but it honestly was never an issue I was curious about until the conversation started going last night. That was just one of many examples of my learning how to be treated like a proper person. I had all these anxieties about disclosing some of the abuse and bullshit I’ve been through over the years, but he reacted like a completely normal person and I feel like I’ve got him in my corner now. I know that he’ll be there and support me no matter what, and that no matter how much of “the crazies” I give him, he understands and just wants me to be as happy as I can be. I knew he loved me before, but I feel like this conversation solidified that for me. Every day he surprises me with his kindness and his spirit. I wish I could bottle that feeling for a rainy day.

Another ten

1. Counseling went well today. I talked a lot about my anxieties around work and going back tomorrow.
2. It rained but it was nice to see the lightning and hear the thunder.
3. I can feel my energy and depression coming on stronger. My anxieties are increasing, but I'm thankful for the awareness of it. It helps in the fight. 
4. Starting new meds tomorrow night. Hoping to get the right dosage soon.
5. Probable trip to Aldi's and the dog food store tonight. For some reason I enjoy that kind of thing.
6. Ran into an unexpected friend in the waiting room at counseling. Hopefully we can catch up more soon.
7. My art room is clean and organized for the first time in forever. There is so much more room for activities! Hopefully I can organize the closet better soon. I'm thinking about installing shelves in there.
8. I'm trying really really hard to stay positive about work tomorrow. 
9. Dog has been really cute today
10. Boyfriend is amazing and I love him.

smelling roses

A standard practice of mine is to list things that are positive and that I am grateful for. No matter how small or seemingly insignificant at times, I believe it's important to take time to appreciate things and reflect on the positivity they bring. I think I'll start posting them here occasionally.

Here are ten things that I am grateful for today.

1. I wrote my first blog entry last night and the world didn't explode and I didn't get murdered in my sleep.
2. I painted and worked on citra-solv transfers yesterday. My new body of work is looking really good.
3. I got to sleep in this morning.
4. I'm grateful for the quiet solitude of having the house to myself and no neighbors. 
5. I'm grateful for the love my beau and I share.
6. My dog made me smile this morning, chewing on a rawhide bone and acting silly, rolling around on the bed and demanding belly rubs. I am excited to buy him new grain-free food we tried the other day. He loved it!
7. Star Trek has been especially calming lately. Currently watching one of my favorites, "Darmok."
8. I'm grateful for my work schedule and FMLA that allows me time to heal.
9. That doughnut I had this morning was really delicious. So was the fountain Pepsi.
10. I'm grateful that I feel the courage stirring in me to create more work. Ideas come and their hard to put into fruition. It's all I dream about but hard to put into action, words or thoughts even.   

pay no attention to the space helmet

Much like a good Tarantino flick or Hunter S. Thompson book, to hell with traditional story arcs. We will start this story wherever I damn well please. I'm the fucking train conductor now. Buy the ticket, take the ride. 

I can talk shit all day, but as I begin to write this a fear swells in my stomach, knotting my intestines in a cruel vice of stress and longing to create. My immediate environment is calm and peaceful, by contrast. Crickets chirping, thunder quietly in the distance. The sound of the trains echoing off the rusty abandoned warehouses downtown. My dog snores aloofly in the alcove outside my studio, and my beau snores quietly echoing the dog's sleepy noises from the lazy boy in the living room where Star Trek plays on netflix. Captain Picard's commands to his crew are so often the subject of my lullaby. It has been since I was a kid when the show ran on the air originally. I guess I'm a creature of habit.

This blog has been a long time coming and I will need to get it all out. Even sitting down to the computer to make the account and set up the damn thing has been a point of contention for many weeks. Like a zit that needs to be popped, but is too early to pick. I gotta wait for the whitehead of my courage to form. Or rage cyst, whichever. Probably both. Hopefully I've summoned enough to make this a good popper. Let's hope I don't have to get out the tweezers. But it might get bloody.

 So this is it? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I never saw combat. I was never a battered woman. When my therapist first suggested it, I was stunned. It was as if some kind of barrier was shattered and I could put a real name on what I was experiencing, and that I was not alone in my diagnosis. In the days that followed I started googling everything I could find on the subject. I joined support groups on reddit, facebook, wherever I could find. I lurked on posts and devoured every word looking for some sort of kinship but too afraid to reach out. He might find it.

I quickly realized that I was facing a much larger demon than I had originally thought while sitting in my therapist's office when the words "Post Traumatic Stress" echoed softly off the cold paint and above the hum of the harsh medical office fluorescent lights. I thought I was stronger than that. I had honestly been ignoring the truth for three years, since my move back to home. 

That first office visit was the first time I had ever uttered the words "I was raped." Admitting it was very weird. The words sounded foreign, they stuck to my tongue and twisted my mouth. It was my voice that said it but the words came from a small place in my soul that is very tired, sick, and was ready to give up. Those three words opened a massive floodgate of memories, events, emotions and trauma that I had compartmentalized and chose to block out. A floodgate of a whole time period in my life when I was so full of vulnerability, drugs, stress, isolation and naivety that it's a miracle I'm even alive today to write about it. The realization that he was a predator and I was prey was reached that first day of counseling. It's still hard to admit, but it's something I can live with now.

After that first visit, I was driving to a friends house to hang out. She had coerced me to come over saying that maybe a good workout and some time to chill would help me take my mind off things. Driving there I was in a haze. Pulling into their apartment complex, the usual overly careful driver I am, started driving on the complete wrong side of the road. My mind was gone. I was miles away back past the therapist office, through time and space, back to three years ago. I was not focused on any specific time or even, I was just there, in that time of vulnerability and isolation. My mental haze was only noticed by my beau, when he quickly pointed out "Hey babe, do you want me to drive? You're on the wrong side of the road!"

To be honest I don't remember much about that visit to our friends' house that evening. I sat on their couch and stared at their cigarette-burned rug and my tattered pair of blue slip-on shoes piled next to the foot of their coffee table. My own words ringing in my ears "I was raped" still ringing in my ears. I was a victim, how could I accept that? I felt torn apart, broken, isolated and fearful. Putting the "R word" to it criminalized him even more in my mind. Even though he was thousands of literal miles away, in my mind, he was next to me. Even yet my creative anxieties crept in further. He was racing in his silver sports car across state lines and coming to get me because I had admitted it, and somehow he knew that I had figured it all out and had finally told someone.

"Hey! I like your socks! Are those happy little hamburgers and french fries? So cute!" my friend cheerfully quipped at me; noticing my gaze towards the mismatched socks on. Her words unintentionally snapped me to reality like a sudden thunderclap. The kind that rouses one from a dead sleep in the middle of the night. The kind of thunder that shakes your soul and rattles the windows of the house. 

"My taste in socks is rather juvenile, and I don't ever really bother pairing them up. Ain't nobody got time for that." I pretended that I was there all along, smiling and nodding, partaking as much of the conversation as I could. Mars? Nope, I've been here all along! Don't mind me or my space helmet, I'm okay. I realized that some sort of emotional floodgates had been opened, and all that I had compartmentalized was starting to come back. It was hard to squeeze back into that mindset and pretend that everything was okay. 

My social awkwardness kicked in and I couldn't remember why I had even taken off my shoes in the first place. I started to worry that my friends thought I was weird for taking off my shoes. That night my partner drove us home. I had to take an anxiety pill to go to bed that night.

The next day after the dust had settled and my nerves had calmed, what my therapist had told me had really started to sink in. I was honestly happy and relieved that I had a name to what I had. She also gave me paperwork to send into work for medical leave. This act has been one of the single biggest helpers in my recovery and treatment. Much of my anxiety comes in the morning and late at night, making it hard to keep a normal sleep schedule or function properly to hold down a job. 

Every single job, responsibility or activity that I have ever had in my 26 years of life I have always quit in one fashion or another due to stress and anxiety. I have a fantastic job now that allows me to carry full health insurance for only working 32 hours a week, so I'm already at a reduced schedule to help my anxiety. The medical leave I have allows me to call in up to 2 times in one work week, for a total of 16 hours a week for an episode of incapacity. My therapist and my psychiatrist signed documents describing my PTSD, anxiety, and depression very vaguely(as to not reveal too much medical information) and then fax it to my employers. This resource has seriously been a godsend in the last few months, especially as I open old wounds and deal with flashbacks, nightmares, insomnia, panic attacks, and severe physiological symptoms. While that tends to keep me broke, my mental health, for the first time in my life, is a main priority.

So this brings me about to my current state. I've been in therapy for about four months now. I see my therapist once a week and my med doctor once every 8 weeks. I feel that I'm making some progress but I also feel rather like I'm in a stale mate with my fears. I have to overcome the fear of the pain from opening up old woulds and poking around. I have to get over the fact that the past is in the past and cannot hurt me anymore. While that task will probably take me years, my first visit to the therapist really seems like a logical starting point to write a memoir or blog as such. I guess it's the starting point to my recovery. I will tell my story here. I don't even care if anyone else in the whole world reads it but me. I'll tell it in pieces and chunks or by subjects, I don't know. It's not for anyone but me anyway. Hey at least I got brave enough for a first entry, right?