the unhelpful helper


Credit goes to Jonas Lundström

In these last days as I tried to cope with the breakup from my partner I ran into the issue I am always running into when I am in need. Since this is a very painful and at times downright life threatening issue for me I have analysed this thoroughly and want to share my ideas about it with all of you.

My struggles start with the fact that like many long term depressed, neglected and/or autistic people I have no reliable social network to fall back on. You know your best friend you can call in the middle of the night to share your horrifying pain with? I never had that. I dealt with all these night on my own. Always. I do have of course people I’m talking to that may or may not qualify as friends (my concept of friendship is rather… vague).

In times like these I always learn who is a good person to be around and who isn’t. Not that I feel very eager to learn such things when I am preoccupied with the idea that I am in all likelihood never going to see my six furbabies again but such is life. As you may have guessed from the title of this post I am calling the people who do not qualify as good friends are the unhelpful helpers. Let’s see how they go about my issues and why this is far from productive.

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Codependance and connection

A deep sadness has taken hold of me these last days. Rather unsurprising considering I recently broke up with my partner. Before I had a strong drive to do this blog, now I need to drag me here. I will still try and write down what I am thinking about and what I might feel.

One of the things I’m pondering recently is how much I am affected by codependance. I know I love to be needed and think I’m not worth peoples attention if I don’t have something to offer. Letting go of the person I wanted to be closest to me does make me feel rather worthless, cut off and my thoughts become a jumbled mess. I can’t even write about it without feeling I’m lying. I just wrote so much about how stuff makes me feel and yet… I don’t know how to word it. I wish I did. Feelings are such fickle things.

Being alone again has triggered many bouts of my strange attacks where I can’t move or am in psychological agony. Borders between this and meltdowns are blurred. I just want to run to them and get a hug which I know will never come. The fight for acceptance, existence which I will never win. Not the way I go about it. Everything I do and don’t do seems so wrong.

I still dutifully take my medication and drink my liquid food and try to manage my life, heal ,grow, whatever but I have no idea where I’m going with this and my doubts are as big as ever. How do you heal when you have no idea how hole looks like? What if by trying to heal I’m just merrily cutting off parts off me, bombard me, poison me further… I just wish I know where to go. But whatever I do, no one knows, no one understands, no one can help me. They want to, I can see that. And I’m so cut off from it all.

I have such a hard time letting things go. I never know how, other people seem to have a magic skill in this area and yet no one can teach me. Like I am he only fish on land and no one gets why I am not breathing through my lungs. Have you tried just inhaling?

I just wish I’d have someone to run to, someone to confide in, I wish I wasn’t so cut off from myself, I wish I knew how to confide, how to not have 20 completely different feelings at once which can’t possibly coexist. But I only know how to crumble under the weight of my own pain.

Facing fears or how to turn autodestruction into construction

Facing fears or how to turn autodestruction into construction

Rumors of my demise have been a wild exaggeration of the truth! I’m back everyone 🙂 Life has been really … intense these last weeks and I want to tell you all about how I heeded my own advice.

I have been starting to see a new therapist recently. The last time I was in a psychiatric institution for an prolonged stretch of time ended with me being lied and manipulated, heavily medicated with the apparent goal of making as much money off me as they could with absolutely no regard for whether or not I would even survive the treatment. You might be surprised to learn I’m not fond of therapists. But I think seeing one would offer a great benefit for me, provided that they actually do help me instead of trying to switch me off because they have no idea what the senator they should do with me.

So I wrote to various therapists and two institutions. There is only one therapist in town that specialised in trauma and they have a waiting list 18 months long. Very motivating. One institution had the following exchange with me:

Me: Hi people, I am very sick and cant do certain things, I also have had bad experiences with people like you, thus I have borders I do not wish to see crossed if I ever am to develop trust in someone of your profession again.

Them: We do not care what you can and can’t do, if we are to heal you from your sickness you are to  do this our way because this is how things are done. Check if that is possible for you.

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the golden cage- a story of abuse which corrupted and an escape

They were street cats before my exflatmate adopted them. Two siblings, a red boy and a tricoloured girl. Part siamese, very intelligent, very talkative, very human oriented. When they first came they were scared of everything. People walking towards them, people sneezing, people bending down to the ground, people running, people looking at them, people coughing, plastic snaps on plastic sounds, anything loud, crushing leaves… Obviously the street had them thoroughly messed up even when they had been relatively young when they relocated to our shared flat.

Within weeks they prospered. They learnt we all did not mean harm and their life was not in immediate danger. They learnt which two legger needs to be pestered for food and when (VERY talkative), which two legger is the best at cuddling, which one invents the coolest games and where each two leggers pain threshold was. They were very respectful cats, mischievous but never pushing it too far. The boy was quite a tomboy, liked to pick things apart. The girl was much more reluctant to come out of her shell. She had one of us two leggers she deemed safe and did the second best to joining said flatmate on the hip. It took me nine months to have her completely relax around me.

We lived next to a very very busy road and in the adoption contract it was stated that these two are meant to be house cats, not going outside at all. Which is what we all would have preferred as we had already lost a kitten to said street. As the months went by the two were very creative in explaining to us without using spoken words how they REALLY wanted to go out. They started not being themselves. Continue reading

the monster inside me…

I am still in the process of soulsearching what went wrong the last few days that I am so deeply uprooted again. I may have found a profound fear of mine that I want to share with all of you. It’s about the fear of failure.

You see growing up the way I did meant hiding and pretending. In order to pretend and hide successfully you preferably forgot what you are hiding and where. You believe your own pretense. I did all this because I knew I relied on my parents to survive, like all minors usually do. I knew life away from home might very well be much more unpleasant than life as I knew it. Given my parents did not want a mirror to show them the sides of their personality they wanted to forget nor were they at all enthusiastic about putting in any effort concerning child rearing that meant this special needs child hid their special needs. And pretty much everything else.

Feelings were a threat to my parents so they were among the first to go. To this day I never know how to answer if someone asks me how I am. I do not know. I have successfully separated myself from my feelings. So successfully that I can not find them now, even if I have spent a considerable amount of time and effort looking for them. If I really focus I can sort of see then behind a glass wall, wrapped up. By now some of the bundles carry labels, that’s what my efforts have lead to so far. I can name some of the feelings there but I do not truly feel. Continue reading

My journey pt VI

What the UFO happened? About a week ago I read an email from my mother. I knew she had written and I have been putting off reading it for a few days. Eventually I decided to read it because I felt not reading it was driving me crazy. It looked okay enough from the preview. It was a short mail. From what I remember now it did not contain anything abusive. Mother knows she is on very thin ice with me and almost does not dare doing anything at all, afraid to mess things up further. It was mostly organisational stuff related to an insurance of mine.

Since I read the mail things have been going south fast. Not sleeping well, depressed, abusive voices in my head on a loop tape. I think many of us know the drill. But I do not know what triggered me that much. So I want to try catharsis through writing. Given I am one very messed up person I do not know myself or my feelings well. My best friend has a similar problem and she once described aptly how this feels:

You go through your days feeling somewhat uncomfortable. A few days in you eventually realise it might be headache. Another few days later you are standing in front of your mirror. Puzzled. Is that an axe splitting my head?? When did that happen?

So there you have it I need to start with the very basics. Many emotions I never really dared to feel. Many things I need to read about before I allow myself to entertain the notion that I might be that way too. So I will try and catalogue what I feel. There are these nice needs and feelings lists from the Center for Nonviolent Communication. This will be my starting point because I have no idea where else to start. So NVC feelings list. Lets list the ones that I feel concerning the email. Continue reading