A Beautiful Mess

A Sexual Abuse and Addiction Recovery Blog

Self Compassion

Been having a couple of weeks that have been emotionally draining.  I’m pretty sure it has something to do with me being off of my medications and also being smack dab and in the midst of winter.  I’m having a hard time accepting that it’s okay to just survive right now.  After all, treading water certainly seems better than drowning.  It’s been difficult for me to truly allow myself to feel how I am feeling.  I keep judging it.  I feel lazy, withdrawn, depressed, zilch for energy.  I am thankful that I have my doctor’s appointment next Monday.  I am happy to know that this feeling will pass.  It’s why I celebrate the good so much.  I know that, too, will pass.

Life.  On life’s terms.

I’m working on not beating myself up, but lately I’ve had some negative thoughts creeping in.  It’s also some people on the outside of my head as well… some not so encouraging words, because I have never seem to deliver before, so why now?  And I feel their frustration, probably more than they will ever truly know.  All I’ve really wanted to do was make certain people in my life proud.  I seem to struggle with the basics sometimes… although other times I feel like I am kicking ass at life.

I don’t know.  I just needed to blog.  Vent.  Since there really isn’t anyone I can talk to about this.  Everyone is so busy with their lives and I, most certainly, hate feeling like a drama queen when discussing this with people who don’t get it.  It’s over their head and overwhelming.  I don’t want to put that on them and ultimately, there is nothing that they could do, but listen.  Sometimes I wish they could listen.  But when they hear the things I say I can see the looks of shock on their face.  I know they can’t handle my truth.  Disclosure is not 100% safe.   I feel like sometimes I have to put on this facade and be who society wants me to be.  When I do this, I feel so fake.  I want to just be able to be me, and not care what the world thinks.  I am moving closer to this, but I’m still quite sensitive to others opinions, particularly when they aren’t very nice.

Mad at myself for letting an old friend back in a door, as well.  Felt completely used and unappreciated after tending to their every need/demand because I felt bad that they were in a predicament.  On the flip side, they didn’t give a hoot about what I had going on and completely took advantage.

I don’t regret helping them.  I do regret that I will not be as quick to go out of my way for them again.  It is what it is.  All I can control is me.

My anxiety attacks have been in full effect.  Partially induced by myself because I keep letting a certain someone back in and within hours I am triggered again.  Practicing self soothing skills.  Trying to just allow myself to do whatever necessary for me to feel safe and not to feel silly about it.

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Freedom of Choice – Victim vs. Survivor

“Being a friend to yourself means believing and treating yourself in ways that are consistent with your belief that although we are victimized in life, being the victim is a free choice. We are free to choose.”

Sana Johnson-Quijada MD

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Respecting the Process

It’s been a while since I blogged.  So many wonderful things have happened.
For one, I am now employed FT and kicking major booty in the performance department.
I actually have health benefits… WHOA!
I have met some wonderful new people at work that I am starting to consider friends.
I am super flippin’ thankful!
Now with all that being said, it doesn’t mean that it’s all peaches and cream.  I’m still struggling.  I’m still fighting a daily battle to love myself unconditionally.  There are times that life is not what I want, but yet what I sadly choose.  I don’t beat myself up for choices that are not good for me, but I do realize that they are indicators.  Red flags that something must be put in check, because I know what a slippery slope things can be.
I am learning to respect the process, though.  I understand, fully, that my transformation into who I was and where I want to be is going to take time.  As they say, Rome wasn’t built overnight…

All in all, though, I’m still surviving and at times… even thriving.

Keep on keeping on and don’t lose patience or understanding of the journey.  It’s not quick and easy.  It’s hard as hell.  But I respect the process and I acknowledge that I am taking steps in the right direction.  Even though I may stumble, it’s that I get the hell back up that matters.
“Illegitimi non carborundum.”

((Don’t let the bastards grind you down.))

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“…gifts from suffering…”

While in treatment at The Healing Center, I found that I heard this phrase a lot: “…gifts from suffering…”

That’s pretty deep to me.

A lot of times I can spend time dwelling on all of the losses and all of the pain and just basically stay focused on my trauma in the past.  But when I think about what my gifts are from suffering, I feel “the journey”.

Although there have been and will be times that seem dismal and overwhelming… the tides of life keep it moving.  It truly is a journey.

My gift from suffering is the ability to tune into another person’s emotions on a very empathic level.  I feel their pain.  I feel their joy.  While it’s a bit much sometimes, it is a gift.  I feel as though I can relate to people and show a level of compassion that people who have never experienced trauma could.  I feel comfort in seeking those people out, because they understand, I understand.  It’s a connection that a lot of people in life will never experience.  I feel like I am alive, alert… aware that life is precious but can be gone in the blink of an eye.  And just because we are breathing most certainly does not mean we are alive.

Blessed with gifts from suffering.

I ask you, my friend, can you identify a gift from your suffering?

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A Poem For You, Mom

Every morning I miss you so much.

It’s like I can’t accept this moment your gone.

My mother, my nemesis, my worst enemy.

We could have had more if only you’d see.

I don’t know when you stopped caring,

or if you ever did.

All I know is, your gone.

And what could have been,

will never be.

 

 

It’s like I feel this immense weight on my shoulders.  She perpetrated abuse against me in a multitude of ways.  Her death just finalized things and what I always thought we would be, never was.  She never did come around to be my mother.  She just stayed an addict.  She completely chose men and drugs over me.  I understand that she came from a horrible background and was abused herself.  But never once did she ever even try to quit or even contemplate it.

 

It’s so hard for me to accept the fact that our relationship was all it was.  I cry daily over her death.  The closure that I got from this was most certainly not what I ever imagined.  It hurts like hell.  It’s been 9 months but it seems like I’m grieving so much more lately.

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Looking for a Trace…

I studied the mirror to find a trace of you.

I turned to the left, tilted my head, smiled, unsmiled…

I locked on my own eyes and it was there that I found you.

RIP Mom

7/4/2011

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I Will Not Give Up

I’ve been sitting here racking my brains trying to utilize tools that I have been given to live a healthy and fruitful life… but I am still kind of floundering with “mom issues”.  I can’t make sense of it in a way that doesn’t deeply pain me.  I am still having a hard time dealing with accepting it for what it was.  I don’t know how to deal with this on my own so I did make an appointment with a therapist.  Just another hoop to jump along my path to recovery and wholeness.  I have faith in the process and I will not give up on myself.

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No Rhyme, No Reason

I am extremely thankful for today.  I am enjoying the solitude and the silence.  An occasional sound of the keys clicking, but for the most part, it’s like a comforting melody to my soul.  In the moment… I feel blessed, grateful, relaxed, contemplative, hopeful, strong and beautiful.

I know my own heart.  I know my own intentions.  I’m truly beginning to become my own friend.  I no longer despise the woman I see in the mirror.  It’s like I’m waking up from a nightmare to find out it was all real.

I survived.

Wow.

That alone, is an amazing statement considering what I have been through.

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Lost My Religion

I look back at my blog and see where I lost my religion, somewhere along the way.  I still consider myself to be very spiritual.  But I look to mother nature, the sun and the beauty all around.  I no longer associate with Christianity.

“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” – Gandhi

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I Like Living.

Blessed Quotes

I like living. Agatha Christie Quote.

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