Am I Dr. Watson?

So, I am totally in a spiral of self-hatred, dissociation and shame.  I have been stuck in my house for about 2 months (?) basically eating and watching Netflix and whatever I torrent off the internet.  I am not in a good place.  And no matter how I say it here, I will sound better than I actually am.  I am not good.  3 weeks ago, if I had a gun, I probably would have killed myself.  Ironically, only my depression stopped my suicide.  It was too much work to plan the whole fucking thing, so I slept instead.

I have been watching and "fangirl" ing this TV show I like- Sherlock on BBC.  It is about Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson in the present.  Dr. Watson is a ptsd guy from the Afghanistan war, and he shacks up with Sherlock to solve crimes.  What I love about the show is that Dr. Watson is just like me.  He has nothing, no love, no passion, nothing to live for and as he says in episode 1 to his therapist (!) "nothing ever happens to me."  And then he randomly becomes flatmates with Sherlock and his life begins.  GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDd.  Please let that happen to me.  I have nothing, no life, nothing.  I feel I am unworthy of even a tumblr account.  I want a Sherlock to come save me.  And I will be the practical human being to his sociopathic/neutral good/asperger's bx.  I just need to be saved.

The beauty of the show Sherlock is basically that they fall in love with each other, without either one knowing what the fuck to do about it.  So they stay platonic work partners that spend every fucking waking moment with each other.  I would be happy with even this fucked up codependent relationship.

I just need help.  Help..  I need love.  And companionship.  But I need to save myself, because no one else can save me.  The idea of a Sherlock is beautiful, but misguided.  I have to be my own Sherlock.  I have to save myself.

PS. After at least a year and a half of abstaining, I got drunk tonight at a lesbian bar and talked to some women.  I even sort of have plans for later in the week.  And let me tell you, I would trade (and did) all the sobriety in the world to have a life. and friendship.  So there.

Cards, Cards, Cards

I had a wonderful day today, even though part of it was spent telling my group why I was a waste of space and should kill myself.  Hmmm.  Anyway, the rest of the day went really well.  Big confession time here, this is something I keep so compartmentalized from myself that it never even occured to me to put in writing:  I was arrested last year for shoplifting.  I wasn't booked or fingerprinted or anything, but I was handcuffed within the store, then given a ticket/paper that told me to show up for court.  I got a lawyer, paid him mucho bucks, and he's been on it since then.  Today was our trial date, finally, after lawyer stalled for a year on purpose.  His strategy was to continue the case forever, so that when it finally came to trial, none of the witnesses/cops would show up.  AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENED?  IT WORKED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I went to the courthouse today for the trial, and before it even got started the prosecution dropped my case because no cops showed up to witness!!!!  Yay!!!! YAY.

This is a second chance for me.  It's like the Goddess said, hey chica, wake up! when I got arrested, but she let me off the hook for major damage.  Now I can pay more money and have my record expunged, and I will be as pure as the driven snow.  Ha.   But I must work on the shoplifting.  I now have pretty much accepted that it is part of my whole trauma-liciousness.  It actually is on a list in the book Secret Survivors. Checklist to see if you have sexual trauma, and shoplifting is one of the choices.  That was quite a shock when I saw that, because it doesn't immediately seem to have to do with trauma.  But there's a correlation.  Weird.

Lara came back to group today to process more about her leaving.  I missed most of it because of court, but it was nice she came.  I am going to miss her so, so, so, so, so, so much.  Sad just thinking about it.

OK.  Good day!  I went to walk on the beach to celebrate my courthouse victory and it was nice.  I picked up a cool piece of coral I want to make into a necklace.

I am still sort of in love with -.  In love is probably not the write word.  In infatuation? In like?  I want to spend more time with her, and I can't because she's such a damn loner.  I miss her when I'm not hanging out with her, and we're just friends.  Ugh.  I don't know if this is romantic, or I'm just lonely and excited to have a friend who can keep up with me.  I don't think I really want to do anything physical with her, I just want to be around her a lot.  What is that?  A friend crush?

OK, time to finish my dang business cards.  I've been working on them for weeks, and I've got to take the plunge, finalize the design and order the damn things!  They will be ordered by tomorrow.  Yay.  Then the official Owl Tutoring will begin.  If I get 4 clients a week I would be overjoyed.  And I'm pretty sure I can get them!  Yay!

On what looks like to me, my mother's hand

How do I both love and hate Ani Difranco.  She is a genius, but cold.  I am jealous of her talent, her drive, her ability to succeed.  I don't think I could have ever been an Ani, but I could have been great.  Is it too late now?  Probably.

I relapsed just now.  Watching porn.  Ugh.  I hate it, but I do it.  I also relapsed on alcohol.  But for some reason that doesn't seem like a big deal.  Because I don't really think alcohol is a problem.  DXM is definitely a problem.

"look with all of you, not with just your eyes."  Albacore, Ani Difranco.

My hands are aging.  My face is not I guess.  I got carded tonight to buy my uggy six pack of Mikes Pink Hard Lemonade.  The guy thought I was in my 20's. Yay.  Or not.  Whatever.

I am so sad.  And so, so, so, so, so alone.  I want to be in love, to have someone love me, but I have no ability to do so.  I want a circle of friends that I can love and love me.  And I don't.  I have 3 good friends.  That is good.  But somehow that doesn't seem like enough somehow.  J says I'm feeling the abandonment.  This feeling of aloneness and emptiness is the emptiness from childhood.  Maybe so, but how do I fix it?  How does that knowledge somehow help?

I think I am close to suicidal again. Death by ennui.

My mother's hands were always on me.  Except when I wouldn't touch her.  But she always had the god-fucking-given right to put her hands on me at any time she wanted.  The right of her being the adult, the right because I was a child, the right because she was my mother and she owned me.  The right of the strong over the weak, over the young, over the helpless.  I loved her and she used that against me.  I put up with so much, because I had no other choice.  I should have left.  Like Suzanne said, at 5 I should have packed a bag, grabbed my 3 year old bother and fucking flown to Paris.  Gotten away from the werewolves.  Werewolf mother, werewolf father.  Werewolf daughter?  No.

Boredom or Fear

So I'm home alone.  Which is a luxury, to be able to have my own place, with air conditioning, a comfy bed, a great TV, a blu-ray player and Netflix.  But I have too much time on my hands.  But I am also afraid to do anything.  I do not want to leave the house.  I would have nothing to do anyway.  As of right now I am in the odd and very lucky position of having all my financial needs taken care of, and having absolutely nothing to do.

I could make cards for my fledgling tutoring business, but I am afraid.  I could go get something to eat, but I don't want to leave the house.  I just watch tv, screw around on the internet, and hide.

I am supposed to start IOP tomorrow, and I'm worried that I'm only doing it because I don't know what else to do.  I need to get myself a life, but I don't want to.  But I am no longer suicidal- I know I am going to live, I just don't know HOW. 

Ugh. Ugh. Uggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  I guess the first step would be to take a shower.  Then get something to eat.  Then go to a meeting.  Then what?  Who the fuck knows.

Beauty and Radical Acceptance (and some pain)

So it's 11:16 pm and I've made it through another day.  I am truly impressed with myself.  I didn't think I was going to make it.  I thought I maybe should go to the hospital around 11 am, but was too depressed to get out of bed.  So I just slept through the truly horrible feelings, and was able to get up to go to my 3:30 meeting.  Wow.

If I had told myself this early this morning, I would have told myself to go fuck myself.  I hated talking to Dr S today.  I wanted to love it, I was bursting at the seams when I saw she called and I couldn't wait to call her back.  But she talked to me like a robot, giving me no warmth, nothing.  I hate her for that.  Why is it so hard for anyone at program to be kind to me?  She told Carol later that she had a positive conversation with me.  HAH.  I almost cut over that convo, Dr S, so not so positive.  I just wanted to know that she was still there for me, still rooting for me, was still on my side.  She gave me pablum.  She gave me "I hear you have negative thoughts right now"  She gave me "I believe you want to come back and work".  Ummm, DUH.  Thank you, but I already knew all that.  I wanted to know you still cared about me.  And you wouldn't be warm or kind or anything.  I could have gotten more warmth from a fortune cookie fortune.  And at least then I would have at least gotten to eat a cookie.

I went over to look at Gus's halfway house today.  Carol loved it, but I felt it was very small, very congested, and I'm not sure how I would fit there.  With 6 women in it, it would be close to impossible for me I think.  But it seems like the healthy thing to do.  AAAAAARGH.   This personal space thing is not bullshit.  Why can't I find a place that understands that?  If I could have a room, even a tiny one, to myself, then I think I would be OK.  Sharing with Carol might be as close as I get to that.

I'm getting tired, thank god.  I'm going to a zen meditation conference with S tomorrow, and I'm a little scared about it, but I'm also a little excited.  I am going to walk tomorrow morning.  And maybe get my boxes ready to send back to Amazon.  They have taken over my dining room table :)

I walked down to the water a few minutes ago, and it was beautiful.  The air is cool, almost cold, the moon is full and there are whisps of clouds.  Orion was bright.  The water was much warmer than the cold sand and it felt like coming home.  I love it here.  I love the ocean at night.  I love the trees at night.  The air at night.  I love it all.

I talked about radical acceptance in the AA group today, and N really liked it.  She thought it came from the Big Book, and I was amused.  It's from DBT.  But AA's "higher power" and "faith in something greater than yourself"  feels like DBT's radical acceptance to me.  This insane optimism that they espouse- this idea that you are exactly where you need to be and that the answers will come to you and that the universe is looking out for you- has seemed like bullshit to me for so long.  But as I think about it, I don't need to believe in god, or have faith.  I just need to know that having this optimism works.  It works if I think I am going to come out OK no matter what.  I don't have to believe there is some divine hand at work, which is good, because i don't and never will.  But I can understand that by scientific empirical methods it has been proven that being radically accepting and optimistic makes you feel better.  And that is enough truth for me.  Plus it just feels right.  It feels like the best way to be a human being.  And it feels like coming home.

Rollerskate Skinny

Rollerskate Skinny (Old 97's):

Every other day is a kick in the shins

Every other day it's like the day just wins...

I believe in love

But it don't believe in me...

So, here's my new blog entry.  I'm editing it on Notepad, we'll see how it works.

My newest roomie relapsed today.  That makes 3 in about a week.  WTF.  I guess I'm doing pretty well comparatively.  No relapse.  Or maybe a relapse, I'm not sure.  I took a bunch of one roomie's sedation crap. So I guess that does mean I used.  I don't want to admit it.  But I guess I did.  I didn't even get high though.  Suck.

I'm still a complete mess mentally.   I'm not cutting, but I'm giving up.  I hate myself and my life.  And I'm tired.  Just tired of trying.  

I sick of even writing this.

I am still not high

It's been at least a half hour since I swallowed the DXM, and I'm still not feeling it.  Ugh.  I just want to be out of my brain RIGHT NOW.  Must wait more.

Have you ever seen "Door in the Floor"?  I vibrate in sympathy with that movie.  Sympathy, not empathy.  Part of it I know is that I went to boarding school like the boy.  And I was poor like the boy, so any job seemed like a gift from the benevolant gods of Society.  I get that.

But somehow the movie also captures the loneliness, awkwardness and isolation that I feel NOW.  Although I also felt it when I was 15 at Andover.  But I identify as much with the Kim Basinger and Jeff Bridges characters as I do with the boy's.

I wish I owned that movie, I'd like to watch it now.  It would validate my feelings of emptiness.