Sunday, February 26, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Round 2: A Barnburner in France
6Knowing this, that our *old man* is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin. 7For he that is dead is freed from sin. TRANSLATION: We each have the power to destroy the faulty body of information we were programmed with, so that we are no longer guided by it. We can replace it with new information and programming so that we can lead healthy, productive lives, free from the torment caused by our earlier programming.
*he/him in the following text *As soon as I made the appointment, some of the anxiety lifted. Something about knowing there would be answers and a way out made the tormentor lie down. The bastard's been there a long time, so he knows when I mean business and he immediately reverts to stealth mode. No use. I've got him in my sights, and I'm offering no quarter.
I don't like to admit when he has the upper hand. I like to think I have him under control or better yet - permanently evicted. He's good at making me feel crazy and hopeless, and he tricks me into hiding it. This works to his advantage because he can multiply the effect - as long as I don't discuss it with anyone who can truly help me call him out as the liar and thief he really is. Talking about it to those closest to me only compounds the problem. Their fear and lack of meaningful support only increases when I share what he tells me. When someone looks at you like you have three heads, or tells you that you are broken and might never be whole, it validates what he says, and he becomes bolder in his boasts.
It's not their fault. It's like living in France all your life and speaking French as your first language, then moving to the US and trying to relate to people who have never been to France. If you try to share your experience with someone and they've never been to France, they just don't get it. And if you try to tell them about your experience while speaking French? Fuggheddaboutit. It's not that they don't care or don't want to help. It's just that they've never been to France and they don't speak French . . . so to speak.
Note to self: when he starts jabbering away in French, run - do not walk - to someone who "speaks French."
So I went to my first appointment with a woman who specializes in PTSD treatment. She is warm and friendly and a bit spacey. Not so spacey as to invite mistrust, just enough to let me know she can relate to my menopause and ADD. I shared how terrified I was of being diagnosed with certain personality disorders. Her response was "Yeah . . . I don't buy into those labels really . . . " I relaxed a little. *kidney punch - he moves away, slightly stunned*
She shared a handout showing the developmental needs of children at various life stages, the corresponding healthy and unhealthy parenting techniques and the outcomes of each technique on the development of the child's personality. It was designed to show me that I am not inherently crazy. When I took the time to study it later in detail, I rediscovered the obvious: how the hell else could I have turned out? There are no alternatives when you are raised by a pedophile and a narcissist. You are going to develop some fucked up thinking and behaviors in order to survive. I survived, ergo I have some fucked up programming. *uppercut to the chin - he rocks back on his heels*
Second session. We talked about my difficulty in asking for help. When childhood needs are met with rejection, ridicule, condemnation, neglect, irritation or violence you learn to do for yourself and to rely on others as little as possible. That's helpful for surviving your childhood, but it presents real problems when you're trying to run a business that requires a team in order to be successful. As the manager of the team I need to delegate. Dele-WHAT??? When you need to learn something, the universe sends you what you need in order to learn it. Uuuuuoooohhhh . . . . THAT'S why I keep getting passive-aggressive lumps for employees! My therapist asked me if I shared my expectations with my employees as part of their orientation. *blink* Huh?
When your paradigm is self-reliance, there are no others - let alone any expectations for their performance. The bar is incredibly low. I expect that when I have to rely on others they will fail, so I shouldn't rely on them - note the futile circle? I should be prepared to do everything myself, despite the fact that it stresses me and places unhealthy demands on my personal time. As a result, my job - which I loved once - has become a major source of stress to the point that I have considered leaving. But now, I see that a shift in my personal paradigm could make it more enjoyable - maybe even more than before. *right hook connects - he stumbles and nearly falls, dazed and weakened*
There is an exception to my rule, and that is my "other" employee. This person is French, if you know what I mean. We speak the same language and have the same work philosophy. We are a fabulous team and have quadrupled our gross sales since we began our joint effort. Is it a coincidence that this happens at a time when I am working on these issues? I think not. AND we get to hire a new employee since we are doing so well. You can bet I will be sharing my expectations as part of their orientation.
*solid kick to the nuts - he drops like a stone*
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Third Time's a Charm
It’s been 9 months since the day I was banded with my
10cc Allergan AP LapBand. I must admit
it’s been a wild ride. I dropped the
vast majority of my 70 pound loss in the first 6 months. Since then I’m clawing for every pound. I am making myself exercise more. I still
struggle with nighttime eating and portion control. I still react with a childish “I’ll show you”
attitude when I think someone doesn’t want me to eat something or more of
something. When I follow the rules, I
lose. But I struggle to follow the
rules. In short, I had hoped that I
could nail down the “crazy” portion of our game for the home viewers, but it’s
not looking good.
My eating disorder is my last holdout, the last bastion
of hope for the crazy person who lives in my head. The oldest, the strongest, and the most
elusive of the many I have defeated.
Taking on this last addiction puts me face to face with the demons that
haunt me and who refuse to stay silent in my head until they are fed. At the risk of being labeled a psycho with
written proof in my own words, I am admitting that I may have CPTSD,
exacerbated by ADD, further exacerbated by menopause. I will not admit to bi-polar yet. I have to have something to hang in my closet
of denial.
I struggle to handle the stresses of everyday life. I have a faulty inner guide for what is right
and normal. Growing up with a narcissist
for a mother will do that to you. OK I
get it. I’m 48 years old and famous for
saying, “At some point you have to realize it’s your life and you have to take
control of it.” I still believe this and
I take responsibility for my own healing.
HOWEVER: I cannot stress to you
how pernicious this early childhood programming is. I suspect I would test as having borderline
personality features, or some other equally frightening diagnosis if tested. MMPI anyone??
Bueller??
I’m intelligent (IQ of 136), educated, and attractive
despite still being overweight. I’m a
creative thinker and an amazing problem-solver.
I am also the classic, textbook version of the oldest child who was
sexually abused and raised by a narcissistic mother. I am broken and I don’t know if I can be
fixed.
I went into this weight loss surgery thinking I would
extinguish my demons in the process of eliminating the behaviors associated
with my obesity in much the same way I had conquered others: substance abuse, compulsive
acting out, and smoking to name a few.
What I am discovering is that I’m down to some majorly core areas of
dysfunction and I’m out of practice at fighting those demons. They’ve maintained a pretty strict regimen in
my head and have remained strong while I enjoyed the 85% of my reclaimed and cleaned
up life. Now that I want that last 15%
too, they’re pissed and they’ve loosed the proverbial Dogs of War. And they’re hungry bastards.
Because I’m not medicating with food, I am faced with
the actual frustrations of my daily life.
Any kind of mole hill sized resistance or hassle seems to be a mountain. I caught myself feeling “overburdened” the
other day because I had to stop to pee while I was doing something. The ensuing thoughts would have been
hilarious had they been the script for a sitcom starring some loveable but
neurotic character. They were not and
they are not.
“And of course I have to PEE. AGAIN.” *huge exasperated sigh* “Why is it that every time I have something to do I have to STOP to PEE?? I want to live in a body without having to stop to take care of ANY bodily functions. I certainly hope when I’m dead this whole peeing thing will stop.”
The feelings at that moment are as intensely
overwhelming as if there were three or four REAL tragedies in my day, and
someone just presented me with a fifth . . . . . . tragedy . . . . not bottle. And yes, that’s tempting, but I’m sure as
hell not giving up any of the 85% that’s already mine.
So I’m wondering if I should check myself in somewhere. There was a link posted in one of my groups
for an inpatient treatment facility, specializing in PTSD. I have completed 30 days inpatient treatment twice
in my life for two different issues, both of them extremely successful. A 1-800 number and a Live Chat option are
staring me in the face.
So what’s keeping me from picking up the phone???
I
AM
SCARED
SHITLESS
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