Thursday, September 30, 2010

Great friends

How can I go from having a crappy day to ending it feeling pretty great?  Great friends!!  I have amazing friends who make me laugh nonstop.  The kind of laughing where you feel like you might pass out or pee your pants.  The kind of laughing where you are bent over, eyes watering, barely breathing, making bizarre chirping noises.  Or no noise at all.  Sure I feel like I need to fake it in the beginning even though they are the greatest most fun people ever!  After faking for for a while, it starts to feel real.  I actually have a good time.  I'm actually laughing for real!  Crying even!

I need to do this more often.





Emotional capacity

I'm feeling pretty agitated since I left therapy, a whole hour ago. I almost didn't go today but I went anyway thinking it was what was best for me... Was it?  Eh...I don't know.  She kept making me think about my feelings when I said I don't know.  The problem is I truly don't know.  I don't have any feelings.

 Maybe I'm a sociopath.  I care about other people too much, but when it comes to me I don't have any feelings other than anger and anxiety.  That's about the extent of my emotional capacity.  Sometimes I have a good time when I'm out with friends and making them laugh.  I feel good then, so I guess I have access to three feelings.

She kept bringing up questions that I truly do have about her, yet she never answered them.  Does she have supervision?  She told me what supervision means but didn't answer if she has it.  Is she talking about me with her therapist?  That prospect freaks me out a bit.   I told her I feel like she's going to refer me to someone else eventually.  She asked me if I want her to refer me to someone else.  I said no, and she said, "okay," but left it at that.  She didn't reassure me that she wouldn't.  Does that mean she is thinking about it?

What is she writing about me in that little tan folder?  I've become more and more obsessed with it as I watch it get thicker and thicker over the months.  It could be a short book, or at least an article by now.  An article about me!  About how nuts she thinks I am!  Who else reads this folder?  When growing up in foster care you have this big black binder that follows you...."your file."  It's filled with private information about you that everyone can read.  Everyone except for you.  I tried to get my file when I was 18, as I was promised, but they make it impossible for that to happen.  I eventually gave up.  And now I have a different file, only this one is tan.

I shared something with her for the first time last Friday...something big.  Something I've never told anyone before in my entire life.  I hate that I shared it with her...basically a stranger.  I want to take it back.  I wanted to ask her if she truly believes me but I couldn't.  I wonder what she wrote in my file about it.  I worry that she thinks I'm making this stuff up.  I'm not but I think other people think I must be.

I asked my therapist if she thinks she can help me today.  Her response was "I hope so."  What does that mean?  Am I a lost cause?  I wonder what she truly thinks of me.  I want to know what her real thoughts are underneath those appropriate therapist statements.

Okay I feel better now.

I love this face!

Cooper:

I have the cutest dog on Earth. 

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Family

Just a rant...nothing special.

What is family exactly?  And why didn't I deserve one as a child...or an adult?  I reconnected with an old foster sister who lived with me in a foster home as well as a group home today.  We sent long emails back and forth all day today.  It was great to talk to her, great to share stories of the past and learn about her life today.  Whenever this happens to me I always feel conflicted.  On one hand I'm thrilled to find her and reconnect.  The other hand is nothing but bitterness and other shameful irrational feelings.  Not at her, but at the reasons why we know each other.

Family is necessary for basic human survival. That's what the Discovery Channel tells me anyway.  Most people grow up knowing where they come from or at least knowing that the people they live with love them.  They grow up with this connection to life and other people.  A connection I don't have or understand.  Sure there are fucked up abusive families that damage and abuse each other, children and adults.  I'd say most families probably screw up and cause a little damage here and there.  

I was removed from my abusive mother for the first time when I was 6 months old.  Apparently I had some health problems and seizures caused by her neglect and CPS came to check on me and found my mother too intoxicated to care for me.  I was sick and dirty, and starving.  My mother was only 17 when she had me, but she was already a hardcore drug addict.  I would be bounced back between my mother and foster care for the next 8 years before CPS finally decided that she had had enough chances.  By the time my mothers rights were severed she had given birth to six children, all of them removed from her care.  My mother was sent to prison for four years for child abuse and I never saw her again...well at least not until I was 20 years old.   

Within those sporadic years spent with my mother I lived in about 20 states.  We were constantly moving....always in the car.  In seedy motels.  I know today that it was because my mother was constantly in trouble and evading punishment.  She married my stepfather, a middle eastern man in the US to study engineering, when I was 2.  We moved to XXX country and a middle eastern when I was 5 or six and we returned when I was 8....or nearly 8.  I remember turning 8 in a children's shelter so we must have come back earlier.

I lived in about 42 foster homes, group homes, and children's shelters before I turned 18 and aged out of foster care.  Did CPS save my life?  Who knows.  Yes, I'm sure they did, but the system was just as abusive, if not more so than my mother and stepfather.

I was talking to my foster mother online from 2 am to about 4am today.  I lived with her for the longest I ever lived in any home.  3 years.  I left her house when I was 12.  I was mute.  I was anorexic.  I was suicidal.  I was destroyed.  She tells me she loves me, never stopped loving me, and has missed me.  My reaction is severe.  It scares me.  I want to scream "FUCK YOU" at my computer screen.  Where did that come from?

I'm a grown woman today yet I still feel that aching need for someone to want me.  I still want a mommy.  I want to be held and loved.  Except I don't like to be touched.  Why didn't anyone ever want me?  I constantly look at pictures of myself as a kid.  I wasn't cute and adorable but I also wasn't hideous.  I tried so hard to be the perfect child.  I just don't understand why I didn't deserve a family.

I started going to therapy in May of this year hoping to deal with this crap and move on.  I'm tired of dwelling.  It's time to get over it.  My therapist is nice.  I like her.  Can she help me?  I'm not sure.  Does she like me?  I'm still not sure.  It's hard for me to attach to her.  After all she's just another person paid to pretend to care about me.  I have this overwhelming feeling that she's going to end up dumping me as a client eventually.  I'm sure I'm a very frustrating client.  I go to therapy thinking I'm finally going to talk today.  I'm going to share, going to start my progress towards health.  I sit on the couch and I go blank.  Why am I here again?  What should I talk about?   What are these things called feelings?  I don't have any of those!

meh!

I'm totally stealing this from an amazing blog called Hyperbole and a Half (I hope she doesn't mind) because this pretty much sums up my mood today:






Childhood??

Sometimes I forget that I was once a child. It fees like I came into this world fully grown and on my own so occasionally I have to go back and look at pictures to prove to myself that I was once small and helpless.  Even with the photographic evidence I still have trouble believing.  How was I ever this small?  How am I still here?  How did I survive?

I'm the one in the middle with the slightly uncomfortable expression that I still catch myself making today.  Can this child really be me?  It seems like a different dimension....an alien abduction.  Like a dream...a nightmare perhaps?

My mother and stepfather look so creepy in this picture but it's perfect because these are the expressions I see in my head when I think of them.  Always pissed off.  Always scowling.  Always angry or annoyed except for the occasions when they were extremely happy.  Those times were usually aided with the help of chemicals and always came with a price.  There was never any middle ground, never any calm.  Maybe my mind just leaves those parts out?  Huge chunks of my childhood are just....gone.  Missing.  Where did they go? 



I have so few photos of my childhood, but the ones I do have are so bizarre.  Here is another one:


I always remember myself being blond and everyone commenting on my blond hair and blue eyes, but I'm clearly not blond in these photos.  Perhaps it's the lighting or maybe this IS blond for the middle east?

I remember those red stairs.  I used to take the mattress off my bed and slide down them.  I would do it over and over again for hours.  I'd slide down then lug the mattress that weighed more than I did back to the top and do it all over again.  Occasionally I'd end up rolling off the mattress and getting trampled but those few short seconds of bliss, of feeling weightless and air-bound were worth the rug burn and bruises.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

MONSOON?

It was so hot yesterday.  I think it said it was 113 in LA.  My car said it was 111 in West Hollywood.  Today it was less hot but still hot for LA, but right now the sky is black and threatening.  It's threatening like an Arizona monsoon.  I feel this energy building outside, but perhaps it's only inside me.  I hope it rains.  I miss the monsoons. 

My dreams won't let me sleep



I've been thinking a lot about the choices I've made in life up to now and why I chose to make them.  The choice to be the good girl, the reliable and responsible one.  Why wasn't I more of a trouble maker? Why didn't I make stupid choices and just go crazy and have some fun? I wish I had done more of....ANYTHING.

I was always the good kid that got straight A's, was always too active in clubs and sports. I always wanted everyone to like me and think I had a good head on my shoulders. I always felt like I had to make the right decisions because there was no one there to catch me if I fell. I don't have parents or any sort of family, so what would happen if my life fell apart? Now I regret those decisions and I want to say fuck you to my life and all these rules.

I've never really done anything crazy in my life. I'm way too old to just say fuck it and mess up my life now. I want to try cocaine. I want to have one night stands and shop lift.

What would it be like to do cocaine, go to a night club and hook up with a total stranger? 


I want something to move me.  I want something to move me like my favorite acoustic song. I have so much to give, so much to contribute, but yet I feel so fruitless. No outlet. My biggest worry is settling into something in this life that leaves me unfulfilled. Something that leaves me feeling like I've given less than my potential. Too much passion moves me. Too much feeling dictates my every move; my every thought. As does too little feeling.  Mostly too little feeling.  What is my calling? I don't know.

My birthday is coming up.  What has become of me?  I've experienced some.  Not enough. I've created memories. I've made friends.  Never in my life did I want to become stagnant. I never wanted to feel as though I'm living day to day.  Like I have been for the last few years. I want to make something of myself. Even if it is just someone small. I want to be somebody.  I want to be special so that my childhood can make sense to me.  There would have been a reason for all of it.  A reason for me to be here.

I feel as though I have all this energy locked inside of me with no outlet. I write, and I write. I draw and I draw. I go throughout my day with pictures flowing through my head, but what do I do with them? What do they do with me?  Is it ever enough to make a living? Is making a living ever better than becoming someone?

Unfortunately there are bills to be paid. Money is what keeps you going, but what about becoming something you've always dreamed of?  Do I even know what I've always dreamed of?  Sure, I could pick something. I could settle into a career, anything really. But am I really becoming someone special? I used to have all this creative energy.  Energy that I know will come back when I feel better, but then what do I do with it? I guess I don't have the balls enough to follow my dreams. The car insurance, the rent, the therapy wont pay itself so I can draw or make films all day.  Is that even what I want to do?

Where do I go from here? I don't know. Where am I going? I don't know. The "self-help" section at Borders won't help.  Will therapy help? I envy those who have followed their hearts to create realities of their dreams.

Monday, September 27, 2010

heh, I dunno

I have no idea what to title this blog. I was hoping for something witty and interesting, but instead I got this. Maybe something fabulous will come to me later.

I don't really have a subject for my blog either, so I guess I am the subject. This is more or less going to be self indulgent ramblings. I guess that's okay because I'm mostly just writing this for me. If someone out there finds it interesting, that's great, but it's not my primary goal.

I'm an Arizona transplant in Los Angeles, and live in a two bedroom apartment with my girlfriend, two dogs, and three cats. Yes this many animals is pure insanity. If I could do it all over again....I'd probably still have this many animals because I have a huge problem turning down pathetic needy things.

I used to be an avid backpacker, mountain biker, and really active. Today I just talk about loving those things without actually doing them. Eventually I'll get off my fat ass and get back into shape

I'm sort of at that stage in life where I have a college degree that does not do much for me in terms of a career but I have no idea what I want to do with the rest of my life. Most people figure this stuff out by now. Right now the plan is to go to graduate school for occupational therapy, but I have no idea if I'll even like occupational therapy much less be intelligent enough for all those science classes! I also know that I'm going to end up working with autistic kids as an occupational therapist. There is just something about many autistic children that I can't tolerate. I know that's such a horrible thing to say especially for someone who used to be a behavior specialist for autistic kids until a giant 13 year old autistic boy beat me up.

I'm actually thinking I might like to become a psychotherapist. I don't know. I might be too crazy to be a therapist. From what I'm reading online, it seems a lot of therapist are pretty crazy themselves, so I guess I can still keep it as an option. I wonder if my life and childhood would be an asset or a determent to that profession?

Ha, I wonder what my therapist would think of this idea? I'm sure it's a frightening prospect for her. I can barely talk to her about how I feel about the weather much less anything important. Therapy is so bizarre to me. I don't like the client/therapist roles very much. It's just too clinical for me. I think I would open up much faster if it felt more like two equal friends chatting about my pathology and less like doctor/patient. I hate feeling like I'm not the authority in this situation.

I hate the boundary rules. Why does her life have to be so secret to me? Why does there have to be an expiration date to our relationship? I understand why we can't be friends today, but the rules and ethics about end of therapy friendships make no sense to me. I think the rules and guidelines go too far in this regard. Therapists and clients can have strong relationships and chemistry. Sometimes people just click. The relationships are very real and so is the bond. Sure things will change when the therapeutic relationship ends, but why is change bad? I think therapists who have strict rules about this are seriously underestimating themselves and the clients. I don't think a therapist has to be friends with everyone they treat, but I think it's very limiting and just pure stupidity to say its unethical. Freud is not right about everything. The man was pretty messed up himself.

I'm sure someone out there is thinking I must be in love with my therapist because of the way I feel on this issue. I'm not sure how I feel about her actually. I mean she seems genuinely nice and I like her, but I'm not sure we would have been friends if we met under difference circumstances. She's model thin, polished, and intelligent and I'm well...none of those things. I doubt she'd even talk to me otherwise. I have no idea if she even likes me now. So my rant above really has nothing to do with my current situation. I'm pretty new to this therapy thing so maybe my ideas will change as I go along.

Wow, how did this turn into a blog entry about my therapy? Oh I know, it's because of my stupid developmental psychology class I just took a quiz for. It's a prerequisite for the Masters of Occupational Therapy program.