Proud Hater

Lost a friend, potentially someone special, as I spoke about my hatred of Trump and his followers. He zoned in hard on my use of the word "hate" and walked out of my life because of it. I looked up the definition of the word "hate", as perhaps I was using it too far out of context. Hate: "to feel intense or passionate dislike". Oh that's all it is? Well I then I hate so very much! The subtext here was of course that I was too much, my feelings were too much, my opinions were too much, and I should tone it down. I don't want to.

I'll summarize what went down. I'd been seeing this guy barely a week and a half. And being who I am I shared a lot (mental note: stop doing that). But my oversharing is really only a way to not share the deeper parts. It makes people feel they know me when they really don't. We started talking politics. I'm vocal so he knows my feelings well on our current situation in America. He even said, "I know you'll speak up. I like that spark about you." Well a week prior we'd met at a bar and he'd said, "A lot of my friends are here and they are Trump supports so please don't do anything." This ticked me off and I said, "I won't start anything but if I hear bullshit I sure as fuck am not smiling sweetly." We went onto other subjects but it later hit me that I didn't think he'd told his friends to shut the fuck up around me because of my beliefs. Telling. So as were talking I went on a bit of a rant about Trump supporters. I said, as I'd told him previously, that I don't believe his friends are "good people" to support such a man. I don't recall what else I said but apparently I threw out the word hate. He slams his beer on the table, stands up and says "I'm out!". I laughed thinking this was a joke. He then goes into a tirade about his wonderful Republican friends (I don't actually care about political parties. 100% of my focus is elimination of Trump.). I sat there stunned. He left and texting began.

In the name of self observation and awareness I'd like to take some vile texts he sent, acknowledge what was said of me, and see what's true:

"You want to hate and call everyone racist, that's your choice." I don't call everyone racist...only the racists! And if you support Trump you are either racist or don't care that he is.

"The fact that you hate tells me all I need to know about you and yes I do know you." I can count on one hand the people I'd say truly know me. It sure as hell isn't some asshole I've known less than 2 weeks. I own my hatred. I've drawn a hard line in the sand on this. Ripping on me for the things I hate does not sway me in the least. There are things to hate in this world.

"You are so two faced. I hate trumpers, they are all racist, THEY CAN ALL DIE." I have zero recollection of saying they can all die. That makes me laugh. But I was a few wines in so if that conversation was recorded, and I said that, I sure won't deny it. I'm an animated person. I make huge statements. And in my loud over the top way of speaking do I say things that are much more extreme than what I really believe? Yeah, all the time. I usually think it's funny but many times no one gets the joke.

"You have to differentiate between political views and who a person is." Nope. I sure don't. Your political views, and the ones you ignore, tell me who you are. 

"You talk to any Buddhist that follows the tenets and they will tell you that you are fucked up." Am I Buddhist? I'm sure he's taking that from my being a yogi. No Buddhist would ever tell another person they are fucked up. I'll own that a lot of me is fucked up and part of my journey is working on this daily. I have pondered this a bit as I like to say the over arching statement of my path is "lokah: samasthah: sukhino bhavanthu" ~ May all beings everywhere be happy and free and my the thoughts, words and actions of my own life contribute to that happiness and freedom for all." OK, so how does Trump fit in here? I would say that speaking out to the atrocities he committed, if he ever does his own self reflection, would lead him towards happiness and freedom. I feel the same for his followers. 

"You are blinded by your trauma. Good luck with hate. Totally know you and your injured heart." My trauma (most of which he knows none of) does guide my actions for sure. When I see others being traumatized, it does cause me to speak and act. Do I hate what I see happening? Yes. I'll proudly be called a hater for this. The injured heart comment felt like it was supposed to be a cut (not that all of this wasn't put downs). Yes, my heart has been horribly injured and I'm using that hurt to help those still in pain to the other side. You don't know me at all.

"Fake your life and your strength. Pretend to be something you are not." I might be faking some strength in the whole 'fake it till you make it' vibe. Not pretending in the slightest. I'm loudly, sometimes forcefully, transparent about my beliefs and what drives me. And if you knew me at all this would be evident.

I don't feel I'm exposing anyone's secrets here as I haven't given a single detail to say who said these things to me. As one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, says, "You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”

So I will justifiably keep on hating the horrors I see happening. I will keep on hating our current administration. I will hate those that claim to be "good" yet turn a blind eye to what is presented before them. 

I'm a hater and proud of it.

Jumping through hoops

Now that my anti-anxiety medication is being taken away I'm looking at other possibilities to manage my panic attacks. I do yoga daily, meditate, journal, take walks and still struggle to breathe at times. I have at least 30 years of being on and off of antidepressants, antianxiety meds and various other ways they made me a case study. I jump through their hoops, they take it away, smile sweetly and they give it back. I'm so sick of it but I'm at their mercy.

The current consideration is a Ganglion Block which is an injection of local anesthetic to block the sympathetic nerves (fight or flight) on either side of the voice box in the neck. It's said to help both pain and PTSD. But damn...

My therapist tells me I've been in allostatic overload for some time. "The definition of allostatic overload refers to the chronic, cumulative effect of stressful situations in daily life experienced by the individual as taxing or exceeding their coping skills." I don't like the sound of this as it feels weak and I am not weak. But I can't deny the weight of the past 6 months on me. I slept for over 7 hours during the day this week end and still went to bed at my normal time. I'm clearly exhausted on multiple levels. She said when you've experienced complex trauma that your body can go into a state of hypervigilance. I feel like I've been in this state forever.

Beyond the anxiety and panic attacks is the debilitating depression I rarely speak of. I don't talk about it because I refuse to go back on all the drugs they tried on me. So I will my way through it. I'm skilled at not asking for help, not telling anyone and putting on a bigger smile when I'm crumbling. People rarely know how to just listen and I can't endure hearing "ideas" on what I should do. Now don't go and try and put me on a suicidal psyche hold, but the full truth is I've stayed alive for my son. Had he not been born well lets say all bets would be off. And horror of all horrors...he struggles with depression. It's truly my worst nightmare.

So I'll once again do what they are asking of me without any real hope for being helped. Sucking up this life for my son. Not asking for sympathy but it's much more grueling than I let on. Maybe I'll never be truly happy. It's possible some things are too big to get over. Focusing on what worked today, doing what I know brings a miniscule amount of relief, and not looking too far ahead as it can be too much to handle.

That wasn't love

As often happens, a picture or meme is what gives me the inspiration for the subjects I write about. This one came up today, "Listen to me, love doesn't leave you traumatized. What was happening to you wasn't love." Today also happens to be the 6 month mark of when I left the man I loved. And I'm still hurting. The most painful part is realizing he never actually loved me.

Two weeks into knowing him he said, "I love you". He was drunk, I was drunk, and my stupid little romantic heart that so desperately wants to be loved believed him. High on endorphins I fell hard for the feeling of that moment. At the time he was saying everything I wanted to hear. He figured out my insecurities immediately, as I'm not one to hide much anyway, and toyed with them while I tried desperately to get back to that moment. He only used the word love to manipulate because he knows an empath loves to hear that

This isn't about detailing all that went wrong, or even passing blame, it's about my acceptance of the fact that he didn't love me. It's about figuring out why I ignored all the red flags. It's understanding why I kept going back. It took me less than 6 weeks to believe what he said. But it's because he said what I wanted to hear. In barely a month and a half I clung to every lie. 

When I was 16 a girl said she was a tarot card reader and offered to do a reading for me. She said to think of a question. She did some card stuff and said, "Whatever your question is the answer is No." My question was will I ever be loved." Her words stuck. This isn't to say I've never been loved. People have loved me but not the ultimate combo of love and acceptance. Accepting who I really am has never been there. Yet I imagined and hoped he accepted me.

There is really nothing to figure out with my questions as I know the answers. I ignored all warnings and kept going back because it felt as close to love as I'd ever gotten. I wanted to believe it was real. Yet I found out he didn't love me at all when I left as he tried to destroy me. He failed but the good memories linger and call to me. I have to recall the horrific things he said about me to suffocate the fantasies. 

I have so many people around me, people that love me, but I'm alone. To hold out hope for some fantasy person that is truthful and accepts me fully is really too much to ask of anyone. We love to hold onto clichés of some "soul mate" or perfect person if you don't stop believing.  There are red flags with the man I'm seeing but I'm acting like I don't care as I know he's not the one anyway. Scary. All I really can do right now is not let it happen again.

Putting Myself First

I'm writing the words "putting myself first", cute little meme to go with this idea, but I truly don't have a clue how to do this. I'm great at helping other people. Seeing where others have a need and meeting it is easy for me and it makes me happy. Yet saying my feelings matter, standing up for myself and even doing right for me feels elusive.

Woke up this morning with debilitating sadness. Now I know what's happening as my period is a day late (no, not pregnant) and this means my hormones are off the rails from my PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder). I can logically tell myself that feelings aren't facts and I need to ride this out. Yet it's painful beyond all words. On top of the existential depression and hormonal roller coaster, my body pain levels are debilitating. I need to prioritize myself at this moment.

Though I preach "self care" to friends all the time, I have to admit I don't know what that would look like for me. How would I put myself first in ways I don't already do? Since I live alone, and my child is grown, things like manicures, massage and baths are part of my daily existence. And though mostly recovered from my eating disorder, giving myself food treats isn't the best of ideas. The one thing I don't allow is rest. The thought of losing a day to rest makes me anxious. I need to be productive. Now productivity can look like having fun for me, but not sleep or laying around or even watching TV. And I'm tired. So tired.

A lot of putting myself first is about permission. I'm sure some of this is likely a trauma response to so many years of flat out being told my feelings didn't matter and I had to suck it up. Looking for balance, to leave the past behind and to give myself the space to matter that I do for everyone else. 

The sorrow and misery will soon pass. There will be a break from the pain. I will still survive if I stop my incessant need to be "on". 

Maybe not for the whole day, but for this moment I can be first.

Being Heard

Leaving the doctor's office from a blood draw, I walked home thinking about how many times I'd jumped through these hoops all because I wasn't heard. The backstory here is that my current doctor is wondering if my panic attacks are due to low magnesium or a thyroid issue. To even consider this dismisses over 30 years of clinical notes detailing my long history with an anxiety disorder. Diagnosed Complex PTSD and PMDD yet roughly every 5 years I get a doctor that wants to challenge this and have me start testing for a variety of random things. They shut me down and won't listen to me. Yet I know I need to smile sweetly and allow them their testing otherwise they take away what little relief I have. 

I used to get livid and rage against them when I felt unheard but I've learned it only make matters worse. My refusal to go back on antidepressants, or whatever new medication is being pushed, seems to cut at their egos as I repeatedly reject the options they want to try. I've tried every medication out there, with the exceptions of a few new ones, and I won't be their case study ever again. The withdrawals from some of these are debilitating. Once I experienced brain zaps for nearly a week, went to my doctor sobbing and begging for help, and she truly told me there was nothing at all that could be done with a fucking smirk on her face. I'm done. 

Now admittedly her reasoning for wanting me off my anti-anxiety medication is a good one. What I'm on has a side effect of early dementia, and my father and both of my aunts were diagnosed with Alzheimer's. So while I understand her concern, also keep in mind I only get 15 pills a month and they are low dose. It's not like I get to skip along the lane popping these like Tic Tacs. I don't feel heard.

It's well known that women historically are dismissed by doctors. We aren't heard especially when it comes to pain and mental health. I've fully given up on the medical community when it comes to my pain condition and treating myself. It's no longer worth my time and energy to fight with people that are supposed to be on my side. It's demeaning to have to beg for help only to be silenced. 

Though they shut down my requests I'm also vocal about how I fill in the gaps to their treatment. I boldly told my rheumatologist that since they say there is nothing more to do for me that I'll be self-treating my seronegative spondyloarthropathy with marijuana and yoga, as that's the only consistent things that give me relief. "Have you tried Abilify?", "No, and fuck your Abilify." Hard not to get punchy when you've endured decades of this treatment.

Not being heard by the medical professionals is exhausting but I know my anger runs much deeper as there is a lifetime of not being heard. I was silenced by my parents. At one point told our lives were at stake because of my big mouth. I was told I was out of line when I spoke up in church. A failed marriage after years of begging to be heard. When you feel you don't have a voice it can feel like being physically beaten daily.

I've recently found my voice. I'm learning how to stand up for myself without tears and hysteria. I'm speaking up for not only myself but for those still silenced. I will be heard.

Being an Inspiration

Saw a powerful picture where the words tore through me. Every single one of these things were said to me at one time. And each time I was told something so void of compassion, with expectations for me, it opened every would I tried to heal. These statements puts the onus on the victim to not only heal but come out better, stronger and that it was for some special reason such as helping others. On top of that are the timeframes of what is expected for you to be "over it". I was once told in church that if you weren't happy and forgiving after a year that you were sinning. 

So it was confirming and helpful to see this picture and be told that how I've handled things, which truly was the best I could, was just fine and I can continue on my healing journey which may take a lifetime. A friend speaking kindly of me once said, "She's the biggest survivor I know." It was a compliment but upon hearing it I burst into tears of rage. I thought, "I didn't want to be a survivor. I didn't want to be stronger. I wanted one fucking break! I would give up all the strength and wisdom to have had a simple and easy past." But I didn't get that and here I am decades later desperately trying to get over what no one should ever experience.

Now be it from my upbringing, or who I am as a person, I do feel huge obligation to "be an inspiration" to others. By inspiring I mean sharing my stories of what happened so others can see that they aren't alone and you can still thrive in life. I know I'm a courageous person, and I know I have a voice where others would fear to speak, so I feel I owe them that. Yet all this outspoken bravery comes at a cost. I've allowed people to know my shit. I've given an opening to hurt me as I've spoken about my insecurities. 

I'll need to be vague but there is a big disclosure I feel I should speak about and it hangs over my head. I feel obligation because I've rarely seen it spoken of. In fact most people won't even fully understand what I'm saying so it's going to require graphic details for full comprehension. Other than my doctor, and some therapists, I've only revealed this to a handful of people. And most still don't get the complexity, how devastating it was and how the shame penetrates me. For me to divulge this would mean no one looking at me the same again. It wasn't my fault, it was out of my control, but I feel humiliation at the thought of anyone else knowing. And once it's out there it's out for life. There is no taking it back.

I need to ponder this more and take into hard consideration what my next steps are. I need to consider what it will cost me. 

Learning to grieve

When I was upset about a relationship that went bad my therapist asked me, "Do you know how to grieve this loss?". I said, "No. I'm not sure I've properly grieved any loss in my life.". My mother's typical statement to being sad at a loss was "That's tough!", said in the most biting of tones. I'm sure this was her own way of dealing with the traumatic losses of her childhood and life, but it sure didn't teach proper self care. So to fully grieve any loss never occurred to me. I stuffed it down, sucked it up and plowed forward. No sadness allowed. 

I became skilled at not feeling a thing. This also meant becoming angry and annoyed at people who acting completely human grieved their own losses. I'd be comforting but inside thinking "This isn't so bad. Shut up about it. You are a baby and have no idea how good you have it.". I'd also hear of them being comforted by their parents as they grieved. A nice dinner out after the boyfriend broke up with them, a shopping trip when they didn't make the cheerleading squad, hugging them and crying on their shoulder. I couldn't conceive of any of this. I learned early on my tears didn't make a difference.

So now being a grown up and forging a new path of healthy boundaries, self care and actions, I'm learning to grieve. I've been encouraged to cry for the little girl who was told to shut up. I've been attempting to acknowledge how painful my marriage was. I'm grieving the loss of things that will never happen at this point in my life. I'm giving myself permission to be sad about parts of me that will never change and learning to accept what is.

Grieving is a scary process for me as there is so much fear that once I allow the feelings to come that they'll never stop pouring out of me. Feelings have always felt like weakness to me so it triggers my survival instincts to lock them down as protection. Yet will all the anxiety, panic, dread and trepidation there is a small voice inside me saying, "You are safe now. It's time."

I am safe now. It's time.