Messages

To Past Self,

I think I understand you a little bit better now. At times, if I squeeze my eyes tight enough and take a slow exhale I can still recall the pressure building inside with no release. That faint, dizzy expression of confusion and slow-building panic. As if my body was a house, and that house was slowly catching on fire. The bones of the structure bending but unable to break (no matter how desperately you wanted them to), the insides filling with smog and dark matter. One steady breath, and it can take me back there.

Most of the time, I don't care to remember. I like moving forward. I like running. I like making goals. I like meeting those goals and making more goals. I like looking forward to mornings with my coffee and taking the dog for a walk (when he's willing). I like my job. I like my friends.  I like my family (now THAT took a LONG time to say!). I like the space I am in. If I look back on the growth, physical - mental - spiritual, I can grow uncomfortable with the memory of how crazy I felt in my own skin. How the traumas of the past were invisible scars etched into the fabric of my organs and bones. The shame of not liking who I saw in the mirror. The confusion of my image reflecting back not meeting the mental picture in my head. Like I was body snatched into an overweight and depressed meat suit. Who I wanted to be and who I believed I could be - did not match reality.

We were defragmented pieces. These pieces were beautiful, but they were sharp and jagged and required slow work to be placed back together. Patience is not a virtue of mine. I wanted to put the pieces back in a matter of days but managed to grow frustrated with the work at every attempt. It took months to put those pieces back together. I am still putting those pieces back together, but the sides have dulled and I've learned to be kinder to myself and the process it takes when you realize with a house on fire, you have to slowly extinguish the flames in order to re-build.

And this time, for the love of all, re-build into an image you can smile at in the mirror.

Love,

Me.

From what I've read you've put a lot of thought towards how to re-prioritize yourself and being honest while still trying to not cause any unnecessary pain, which can be difficult. I so appreciate the choices we get to make in friends and to be able to finally have healthy comparisons on good natured individuals who do demonstrate healthy boundaries and are low stress and bring a lot of enjoyment into my life and where setting boundaries with them is much simpler than friends I made in my teenage years still suffering quite a bit from C-PTSD symptoms.

I've worked really hard in the last 7 years to create a home and a place to live that I am proud of. Making a safe space isn't always easy, especially when building out of nothing. I've become very protective and proud of the place I live in - the work it took to afford many deposits, upgrading furniture and decorations over the years. It didn't happen overnight and it wasn't easy. I always had the lease under my name until recently my landlord wanted my roommate (who's been living here about a year) to also be on the lease.

As soon as she signed the lease for a year things turned south. We're battling over the thermostat since she can't afford the electric bill so she wants it set at 80 degrees during the day (uhh it's florida girl??). We've gotten into tiffs about bills, about feeling it's rude of me to text her in the middle of the day when she is working with an update, to refusing to communicate, refusing to problem solve and compromise. It got so toxic so quickly I informed her this was the last year we would live together and when the lease is up we can go our separate ways. To which she told me "That's fine, you can move out. I'm comfortable here."

Re-living the conversation has me shaking. I've lived here three years longer than she has, with just my name on the lease. I've paid over $2,000 in deposits from the house to pet fee, and deposits on utilities. ALL of the furntiure and decorations are mine. I made this place my home for several years before I talked with her over a roommate app and decided to live with her (a horrible choice). I now feel like I have this poison living in my home I can't get rid of. I know it defies all logic that at the end of our lease the landlord would pick her over me (the rent has been reliably coming out of my account for the past 4 years and all the fees and communication are done by me). I have done so much hardwork on my ED, Anxiety and Depression and I refuse to let her set me back but I am so anxious over how the next ten months are going to play out.

Maybe it's her age and maturity, I just can't believe with how long I have lived here, she would have the pure audacity to tell me to move out because she's comfortable. This is my HOME. and I know for anyone who's had to fight for a place they feel safe, HOME is something they will defend.

To the Bestfriend I Left Behind,

   I never thought of us as damaged goods, broken beyond repair. We just needed time. We needed a little more effort. The functional pieces were still ticking - our gears could shift and click and it was nothing some rubber bands and crazy glue couldn't fix. We had the instruction manual. We had a history of being efficient and well paired together. We knew on a fundamental level that you and I worked. A few bumps and updates had led to some user errors and miscalculations but nothing we couldn't figure out together. I tinkered and fidgeted with the pieces, instructions strewn across the living room floor. I looked at the problem from all angles - tried numerous reboots and updates. I went to specialists, explained the problem and waited for a more in-depth analysis.

   I didn't like what they had to say, didn't want to hear "I think we should focus on you". I didn't need to focus on me. I needed to focus on us - so I can fix us. So I could save us! I paid that specialist, and never took her advice. She wouldn't be the first to recognize it was time to abandon hope (I guess that should have been one of the first clues). You were my best friend of eleven years - eleven freaking years. Who doesn't try to save that? Who doesn't believe in the goodness of the universe that true effort and unburdening your heart will reap the results you desire. I believed in us. I believed in the cosmic beauty that all sins and scars in a friendship could be cleaned by honesty and taking responsibility. I believed in making a stand and showing up every day as a caring, thoughtful individual who would always put in the time and energy for you.

So....where were you?

I showed up. I wore my heart on my sleeve. I gave you everything you told me you needed and wanted. I read in between the lines and when you wanted space and time away, I gave you that too. I gave you patience and understanding. I gave creativity and thoughtful words. I gave time and expressed concern. I gave feeling and hope. I gave that all to you.

And all you gave me was a read receipt left on.

The words those specialists said started to sink in deeper. How I threw myself into others so I could forget about my own damage. The way I found co-dependence and failed to keep healthy meaningful boundaries. How I mothered. How I craved acceptance and turned it into my self-worth. How every relationship I equated with others to proof that I was decent, good and belonged. Then a little voice started to whisper in the back of my head....'don't you deserve more?' and for the first time in a long time, I didn't diminish that small voice away. I let it grow bigger, bolder until it took on a roar and a life of it's own.

Don't you deserve more?

I didn't want to leave you behind - but once I answered the voice, there was no undoing. Yes. I do. I deserve more. I deserve so, so much more. I hope one day you realize that you do too.

Sincerely,
     The Bolder Side of Me

It wasn't easy - but I was able to let go.

Some days I still struggle with the sudden quiet in my head, of my thoughts no longer at war with each other on to fight or 'give up' on a friendship. Giving up isn't a word I am comfortable with. I've never been one to back down from a hard fight. It was only when I looked at the situation from a new perspective that I realized I wasn't giving up on a friendship.

I was finally making the decision to fight for myself. While it cuts me that the message I left for my best friend is one she has yet to read (she may never find it...although I left it where it's easy enough to find), I finally found peace in doing a complete shut out. All social media (including my accounts) deleted so I can't torture myself with checking in. Number blocked on my phone because if she texted me, I would ALWAYS come running back even if it had been 6 months since ignoring my third "I'm really worried is everything okay?" text. I still think about it almost daily - a song plays on the radio or a text comes through and it's hard not to think about it...but it's a kinder thought, a quieter thought. I'm not panicked or desperate that I'll never engage in this old song and dance again.

I finally decided to fight for what I believed I deserved. And I deserve better than being haunted by an empty friendship. I hope anyone who still stumbles upon this old thread is able to find the same peace and love for themselves that I found. Letting go wasn't easy, but it was worth it. *I* was worth it.

To my bestfriend:

I fought so hard to keep you in my life. After college, when we were at our closest and all the possibilities in the world open to us, I excitedly made the leap to move 1400 miles away from my family and past life. We were everything to each other, sharing stories and secrets that nobody could understand except for us. We laughed until we cried every night for 6 years. We got each other through college. You were the very best part of my life for several years, and I seemed to be yours. I asked how you'd feel about moving to the same state, of basking in the same warm light more often like when I visited during spring breaks. You were as excited as I was ( i think ), we would be closer than ever ( or so i thought ). The first year moving near you was the hardest. Admittedly, I had more expectations that we would see each other more often, play tourist and continue to co-write our books as we had done for the last 6 years. Every time you drew away, I tugged harder. And as soon as I feared the tether between us would snap from the pressure I applied and loosened my grip, you would suddenly tug back as if lost without the weight and burden of my desperate grasp. In my darkest time, reaching out to ask you why we were seemed to be falling apart, you texted back "sometimes people change" and I wondered had we really changed that much? Did you not miss me? Did you not need me? Was I a burden? Had I reached out too much? Was it annoying? Was I annoying?!

The next year was hazy, I think depression funks have a way of clotting out all your thoughts and memories. We drifted apart and I ungraciously pulled and clawed and bargained away every iota of self esteem and self worth to keep you interested. I abandoned everything I needed if it meant you would stay my best friend. I stopped applying pressure but would quickly respond at the slightest tug of the rope from you. No demands. No expectations. No weight. You were free to be my friend or leave and I told myself that was 'true' adulthood - you let things go and if they're meant to be, they come back. And you ALWAYS came back. It could be weeks or months, but always, a text would crop up "sorry! i know i am a horrible best friend! love you! we should write together soon!" and my hope would leap, and my heart would grow and for another 6 months I would convince myself that you needed more time, but we were destined. I convinced myself to be the friend I would want to have - who fought each and every last disappointment, who always came through, ready to go that extra mile. I did my best to be the friend I thought you wanted, to mirror the friend I thought I deserved. I want you to know that. At every obvious sign that I needed to let go....I held on tighter to be whoever I thought you needed. Anything for your approval and attention. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes you would come back and re-ignite the spark of hope that what we had wasn't dead but just needed a few sparks of a resurrection. It was just enough to keep me around, to feel like cutting you out of my life was akin to slicing off a limb. I couldn't stand the thought of cutting you out - it created instant panic. I always steered away, told myself I just had to be stronger for you. I just needed to hold out, just a little longer. You would come back, because again, you always did...

And then, through all the ups and downs and waiting on texts from you or giving space or pushing forward and checking in to see if you were still breathing...something unexpected happened.

I got better. Like, really better. I got stronger and healthier. My mind became clearer. My heart stopped wheezing with every pulse. I kicked old habits to the curb. I hung up my depression and anxiety. I kissed my body dysmorphia and bulimia to the wind. I slept real sleep, for the first time in years. It didn't happen over night. It didn't happen in a week, or a month, or even a few months. I put in hard, glorious work that slowly paid off over time. I made changes of what I accepted into my life, and what I did not. I hope you understand, I wanted the dream we used to giggle and talk about to come true. I wanted that life of growing old and causing mayhem in nursing homes and still writing our same stories and characters together. But you were causing me so much pain. Our friendship made me feel crazy. One minute you're telling me how much you love me, and the next you can't answer a simple text for four months? You'll text me that you're at the same amusement park as me and ask what I am doing...but won't respond when I ask if you want to grab a drink? You cancelled every last plan we had in the last two years. You started writing again...but it wasn't with me. I had always believed you in the past, when you told me you loved me.

But once I learned to love myself, I realized this wasn't the love that was meant for me.

- Your CI Twin 

I haven't been on this site in awhile, it was so rewarding to come back on and read the replies left for me. They really left an impact as I am currently going back and forth in my head over one of the friendships, which had once been very close and now it's like half-chewed peppermint gum that's lost most of it's flavor, but you're just not committed yet to spitting it in the trash.

I've gotten a little better at separating my self-worth from actions and messages I am perceiving from people I consider friends. I try to remind myself that I don't know 100% what is going through their minds and my intuition (though rarely wrong) could absolutely be in the wrong. At the very least I am determined with 2019 to stop letting other people's actions define my own internal love for the self. It's not very fair and it's giving others entirely too much power. I about lost it back in October when I was asked to be a bridesmaid for one of the friends who had slowly been drifting. It ended up being a mini-destination wedding to Savannah, GA. I got a bridesmaid dress approved from her, spent entirely too much money and agreed to spending more days than I really wanted in Savannah (two things I should have set limits on due to finances). I endured, like any good soldier on a bride's wedding day, all of her anxiety and unnecessary snapping at us while getting ready and gave compliments and reassurances as we arrived 5 minutes late to the venue in the park. There the small group of people for the event were all wearing nice outfits, but nothing bridesmaid-like. The bride was whisked off to talk to the minister and...suddenly we were asked to stand over to the side and the ceremony started. I stood in the crowd of people, feeling absolutely ridiculous in the expensive and tasteful bridesmaid dress...all to attend as a guest to her ELOPEMENT. You'd think the evening could only improve but fate was determined to prove me wrong. Fortunately, it really helped me with setting better boundaries and figuring out how to casually remain friendly with her (since I do work with her the INFJ door slap wasn't professionally practical) and it's been really good to feel safe to have a conversation and keep things light and know I am not unintentionally giving someone power they don't realize they have to hurt me or have a drastic effect on my mood.

Being able to state what I need has always been difficult when it comes to setting boundaries. It's why I either wall up and shut down or try to do everything perfect and be the best possible friend. I'm understanding that my owning my childhood trauma of never being heard or always being invalidated of my thoughts and emotions doesn't mean my adult self doesn't deserve to be heard, and my adult self has a right to be heard AND my adult self is more capable than ever to handle the response of the other person.

Potential TW for anyone going through ED with C-PTSD.

My insomnia has become disgusting since I got into recovery for bulimia and emotional overeating. I haven't had a single easy sleeping day in the past month, and it had been occurring frequently enough since then to be frustrating. I had an appointment with a new primary to see about sleeping aids, but all the research I've looked into says to try CBT along with a guideline of what to do and what not to do before sleep. None of the sleeping aids look like great choices. I'm working out 2 - 3 times a day doing different exercises - hour of weights, hour of yoga, hour of walking/running the dog around the block. Just trying to exhaust my body, and nothings working.

I have to keep getting up early for my schedule and it's beginning to affect my work outs, which I am hating. The only reason I can come up with my flair of insomnia is ending the ED behaviors has really intensified my anxiety at night. I wouldn't call them straight up panic attacks at night, but it's not pleasant and relaxing just feels impossible. Only thing I've found to semi-help is a medicinal herb, but it tends to make me drowsy in the morning and the FDA is chomping to turn it into a controlled substance, so who know's how long I'll even have that to help. I'm already receiving therapy and there's so much work to be done on boundaries and feeling safe, I hate to waste too much time in session going back and forth about the insomnia when I'm hoping as the ED goes farther and farther into recovery, so will the sleeping disorder.

It tends to cycle, so here's wishful thinking since i've been 'ON' with insomnia for 4 weeks straight now, I'll get some relief soon and it clicks 'OFF' for at least a few months.

I see a therapist that specializes in C-PTSD through Sensorimotor Psychotherapy. She is the first therapist who hasn't triggered me, who I see value in continuing to go back and see and really takes the time to get a detailed history of my life. I don't think I could recommend Sensorimotor Psychotherapy enough for anyone suffering from C-PTSD. Any reading materials you may find from Janina Fisher, Pat Ogden and Bessel Van Der Kolk are amazing. I've been frustrated for over a decade of being diagnosed with just 'anxiety' or just 'adjustment disorder' but discovering the people mentioned above and reading some of their books, it really restored a piece of my sanity. I didn't feel crazy like my brain was broken because their research on neurobiology and childhood trauma was so relatable -it finally gave me the sense that others out there see the nightmares CPTSD individuals are continually stuck in. I had a need to be validated in that diagnosis. Seeing a trauma-specialist therapist helped with that, a medical person finally could reassure me that my trauma and the effects of it were real.

If you go to the Sensorimotor Psychology Institute, you can look up clinicians who are certified in the practice in your area.

I've been in recovery from my ED for about two weeks now. September 3rd will be the mile marker of 30 days. Luckily I am extremely competitive , especially against myself. So the past two week's any desire to engage in an old behavior has been thwarted by my simple desire to see this new journey out and to make the next mile marker. I had a date planned for today, that I've been genuinely excited for. When it looked like there was a chance the date wouldn't happen, instead of caving into toxic shame I planned alternative activities to deal with the disappointment, including making either an OA meeting or Yoga. I missed the OA Meeting but had enough time for Yin Yoga - so off I went. I don't typically enjoy the slow holds. I'm more of a VInyasa or Hatha girl, but this Yin Class was amazing. As I was sinking into one of the postures, it's like all the anger aimed towards my FOO just went flickering. I could painful words my mother has stated in the past, but there was a new understanding - these were not "her" words. This was her inner child. Angry. Lonely. Needing. Isolated. Demanding it be her turn, that someone finally take care of her.

I couldn't be mad anymore. It be like holding anger against my own inner child while I am practicing Ahimsa and self-compassion. I could see that inner child out of my mother so clearly, that it just melted all the anger and old bitter resentment away. Understanding the parts of CPTSD has been so revealing and helpful in treatment, not only in understanding myself but being able to gain a more compassionate viewpoint of my FOO. Between finding a therapist specializing in CPTSD and identifying with having an ED and starting the twelve steps, I've found more peace and gratitude that I ever imagined possible.

I'm very fortunate to have a sensorimotor psychotherapist in the area and be in a place, while expensive and a little financially stressful, seeing her weekly for now is doable. I don't know the full context of the memory, but I do know the flicker is real and the intense weight I get in my chest and sudden overwhelming panic is real - that's enough for now. I know from speaking with my T that dissociation is on some scale, common for everyone and so it helps to know the dissociation I am feeling is warranted, and something that we will get into with sessions.

It's strange. I've spent so many years de-validating myself and loading on more shame to my core feelings because I've always felt my background and family history isn't the stuff of horror, and doesn't justify anywhere near what I am feeling. I really just took all of it in and pushed it aside like it didn't matter. This is the first time I've really ventured out to talking about my experiences - both with this forum and with my new T. And i'm just so grateful that both exist.

Thank you for sharing that.

The feeling of the memory counting is sort of what I am relaxing into. I don't want/nor have the experience to properly deconstruct a shattered memory on my own. I had a therapist I was shadowing once for academic purposes put her clients in a meditation state. She stated to let things come up as they do, don't force and relax into what comes to mind because it just means the body is ready to process it. So I think your right that the little flicker of what came to me is just letting me know I'm ready to deal with the trauma. I don't and probably shouldn't, remember the details. There's little point in it. It came to my mind and it's nothing anyone would ever, ever by their own conjunction wish to have happen to them or recover. So I think you've got it right - the feeling of the memory counts. I'll let my therapist know tomorrow so I can get some grounding techniques incase more does trickle in while practicing yoga.

Yes, I am really hopeful that I finally have a therapist who is trained in EMDR and Sensorimotor Psychotherapy. I finally feel with her that I can get more out of my therapy session then 'what coping skill are utilizing for that?' I just started with her and she takes a very detailed history for the first few sessions, so a lot of blacked out childhood stuff is starting to come to the surface. I've been in recovery for a few weeks now from an ED and I can't help but wonder if not having my go-to compulsion to block stuff out is also really affecting these memories coming to the surface. I've never made it past a third session with a therapist, so my goal with her is to stick with it and not let my isolation tendencies win over.

(( TW is brief, I don't have a lot of detail so this obviously won't go into detail )).

I've never had any memories of being molested - but I've had a slew of symptoms that are all very text-book appropriate for someone with childhood sexual abuse. I've been so hung up on the emotional abandonment abuse and the fear from the shouting and some minor physical abuse that I contributed my in-tolerance to random touch, avoidance of relationships and trust and general anxiety when becoming close to men physically (I always cut it off when it starts to get to a place where I know physically touching each other makes sense). I just never even questioned having amnesia from childhood sexual abuse, which I know is extremely common if you did experience it.

((IF anything is TW it be this next paragraph!!)




I've been doing a lot of healing work and working on body/sensory type stuff with my therapist. I was in yoga and just finishing up the last part of the meditation. The instructor sometimes goes around and puts a blanket on us if we have it out with a permission stone and will lightly touch our feet - this touch (along with 'expected touches' like pedicures, and getting your hair done I tend to like because as a human I do crave physical connection but this is very, very safe in terms of knowing exactly what to expect and when to expect it). Anyways, during the meditation portion, the blanket was on, I was sinking into the trance and I swear I felt a hand on my foot. My entire body leapt into fight/flight/freeze. I felt sheer panic that as it melted away in a few seconds, could very visibly see my biological father's face and my childhood bedroom. I haven't seen my biological father in over fifteen years. I can barely recall what he looks like, but it was really clear in the image. I always have memories from a third person POV, so seeing it from an outsider perspective doesn't surprise me. Later I processed just saying the words of what I saw out loud. The first time I did it was intense emotion waving over me, I had to pause and take a breath. I repeated it a few more times with kindness to myself and seemed to shift into a better head space.

I'd hate to be giving myself false memories. I'm frustrated that I can't trust what's real and what's not real. I want to remember so I can heal and move on. I've spent twenty eight years of my life being miserable over my childhood, repressing and dissociating.

By chance while researching Sensorimotor Psychotherapy, I came upon the Sensorimotor Psychotherapy Academy webpage which had a 'find a counselor near you' button. I've been interested in receiving specialized treatment from trained counselors before - and typically am met with disappointment that there isn't a therapist within the state who practice that modality of treatment. I lucked out this time, with only 1 counselor in my immediate area (and very few in the state). Of course, since this counselor has specialized training all of the costs are out of pocket. Not that it matters anyways, insurance isn't going to pay for a mental health diagnosis that has yet to be approved by our diagnostic manual.

I wrestled with the decision all night over the pricing of the therapy, it's marginally do-able for me from a financial stand point and certainly not for long-term. I'll only be about to do once a week for a month, maybe six weeks. I think a part of me hoped the 15 minute consultation over the phone would go poorly. Within minutes she briefly mentioned that she could already tell part of the healing would be 'helping me feel safe in my own skin' and I don't think anyone has ever been able to so adeptly put it. I filled out the paperwork online, involving a serious autobiography of questions. I've read so much on Sensorimotor Psychotherapy, of conflicting parts and the current treatments available for CPTSD. Through that I've only begun to understand some of the dangerous and self-inflicting behaviors I have condoned through numbing and puling away from being emotionally invested in myself.

I am so tired of getting everything done, of my body being in alert to 'survive' through what HAS to be done - school, work and taking care of my dog. I'm tired of feeling as if relationships are impossible for me, of recoiling from people touching me or becoming so heightened and distraught when a friend puts their hand on my shoulder - with having no idea why I have such a strong reaction to it. Recently a few of my 'freeze' behaviors have gotten worse, and I hope in the end the results will be worth the investment and financial stress.

I really, really hope this counseling will work. I've been so frustrated over the last counselors I've seen. Even within the 15 minute consultation I warned her that I had a habit of ghosting after the second session. I am trying to find and hold onto the hope that healing is possible, and that what I am currently experiencing is not my 'state of normal' because that really touches on my deepest fear - of being frozen and untreatable.