I’m having a crisis type of day. I can’t email Ron again – I’ve emailed him twice since our session Thursday. My moods and states are completely volatile. I haven’t had this low of a depression yet, since Thursday. All the stuff I emailed him about was anxiety stuff.
I think I may not be able to continue the exercising. Exercise has set this off I think. It’s the SA feelings – a darkness, a pitch black substance, seems to be coming from deep inside of me. I feel completely worthless. I think of dying, of not being here any more. I can lie on my couch and just doze for hours at a time. I wanted to go to my ACA group today, and just couldn’t make it. I wanted to get a library book that’s on hold, and couldn’t do that either. I feel completely pathetic.
It doesn’t seem fair that this happens. When I do all these things to help myself. And then I end up down in the pit like this. Remembering blackness.
It is hard to move around when there is a pitch black substance seeping out of you.
This doesn’t seem to be a child part either. Maybe it is, but it’s not the same as when they’re triggered by therapy.
Maybe if I could remember what happened, it would recede. Of course, I want to shy away. When you’re that young, your mind doesn’t remember as an adult would anyway.
I know how my parents responded made it worse and became part of the trauma. They became angry. Probably because I couldn’t explain properly what was wrong, so they got scared, and then angry.
Why couldn’t I go to my ACA group? Ron asks questions like that, when I tell him I just couldn’t make it out. Well. For one thing, I don’t want anyone to see me when I feel covered in a black substance. I am sure they will dislike me because of it. Beyond just the mild indifference they have shown to this point. I won’t be able to explain my feelings. I’ll have to pretend, to pretend to cope, in order to fit in at all. And the mechanics of getting somewhere seem overwhelming. Putting on all those winter clothes. Getting to the subway. Not losing things. I. just. can’t. do. it.
A part of the memory is helplessness. Powerless. Feeling very small. And not able to explain. Like my world collapsed, but nobody could help me put it back together.
Tuesday I start working. I don’t think I can keep getting triggered like this and work at the same time. I worry.
OK. Feeling very small, and squashed, and unable to cope.