Papa Coco's Recovery Journal

[Armee]

 

[Papa Coco]

Armee, San, Moondance and Hope, thank you all for your hugs and responses. Your care and concern and fellowship mean the world to me right now.

I've been distracted this past week. My wife and I are celebrating 40 years of marriage this week. We've been together at the beach, sharing this small house, which does not have a place for me to privately use the internet. My computer is in the living room here, and I keep this forum discrete. My wife knows I communicate with people like myself, but she doesn't know the forum name or address. This is my private space. I wouldn't be able to feel open if I knew she could read what I write. Even though I never say anything bad about her, because there really isn't anything bad about her. But she doesn't have CPTSD so, while she respects what I go through, she doesn't understand it. My privacy issues come from childhood. Mommy Dearest routinely searched my room, read my diary, punished me for every word I wrote in my own private diary, and basically taught me that if family can see what I'm writing, my brain shuts down and goes into paranoid mode. Writer's Block. So, to keep from having writer's block today, I have no choice but to keep this forum private. My wife knows that, and respects it. She knew my mom.

So she just left a half hour ago. She needs to return to the city to go back to work on Friday. So, now, I have the freedom to write to my fellow forum members with a clear head.

Micro Dosing Update: The Capsules wreak havoc on my GI tract. I get bad, bad heartburn if I take them daily. I read up on the ingredients, and found that this is common in many people. I took them for a week. I then stopped for a week. Yesterday, I took one with two spoonfuls of honey and a big glass of non-carbonated ginger water, and a Prilosec for good measure. No heartburn.

I think the micro dosing is changing me more than I had realized.  Last week, I traded off my aging, but very exciting bright orange Jeep. It was aging poorly and coming apart at the seams, but up until last week I loved that Jeep like it was a person. Suddenly, the bling and the exciting colors and lights and flash felt wrong. Suddenly I don't want to feel like a 19-year-old, peacocking all over town in a high-profile, blinged up kid's car anymore. I traded it for a new one in basic black with very, very few options. I feel oddly comfortable in it.

In fact, I feel free from my past right now. Even the abuse I took feels like it happened to someone else in a book I'd read or a movie about someone else.

This is really a good feeling. I hope it lasts. My curiosity is about whether it was the Ketamine Infusions of 2022 or the one week of microdosing that did this. I feel okay being an old man now. I feel okay with where my life is right now. It's an odd feeling. Not sure I've ever felt "satisfied" before.

Update on "I hate myself": I met with T on Tuesday of last week. He approved of what I'm doing. I have at least 30 flashbacks a day. Up until three weeks ago, each little memory of something I said or did that I regret, would send me into a five minute downward spiral of shame and anxiety. But three weeks ago I suddenly realized how badly I hate myself, and I started replacing my shame spiral with a single sentence: "See? This is why I hate myself." It felt painful at first, but it felt honest. Like I'd cut through the crapola and had found the root of my shame spiral: self-hatred. My T said it was me letting myself off the hook. He was okay with it. I didn't just start to hate myself, but mostly I just finally cut to the chase and admitted it.

Today, I still say those words each time I remember an embarrassing event, but to my relief, 30 episodes of shame each day have been reduced to just a half-dozen or less. And the words, while still true, don't bite at me anymore. Maybe I don't hate myself as much as I did when I hid from it. Not hiding from it truly does feel like I'm letting myself off the hook.

Well, I have a lot of work to do here. I have to get the house ready for guests. I've got a lot of laundry to do and some beds to make up with clean sheets. I will be able to check in on the forum more though, now that my beautiful wife has gone back to the city.

[sanmagic7]

sounds like you are doing a good thing for yourself, PC.  i hope it continues.  love and hugs

[Armee]

I'm so glad you got some time with your beautiful wife away from the stressful city house.

I'm the same way about keeping things private. For many of the same reasons too. I actually look like I am guilty of doing something horrible if my husband walks in on me doing anything except I don't know cooking or cleaning I hide whatever innocuous thing I was doing like I've been caught cheating or doing drugs. Its funny but sad.

I think you are on to something with calling out the self hatred, for sure. And I predict over time after you acknowledge that feeling for awhile you'll shift to something more kind and truthful about yourself.

[Moondance]

 

[Papa Coco]

Journal Entry for Tuesday, May 9, 2023

I did it again. I dented up my brand new car....again. AGAIN!

I've done this before: In 2010 I bought a brand new Jeep Wrangler. When it was 3 weeks old, I got into a dissociative funk after a heart-treadmill test and backed it into a parking garage pillar, destroying the taillight, denting the body and denting the bumper. The repair estimate was $1,300 but I didn't have it, so I replaced the tail light and drove it dented for 13 years until I just traded it for a brand new 2023 Jeep Gladiator three weeks ago.

In 2009, on the day my mother's doctor announced that she was dying and only had weeks to live, I got into a dissociative funk and caved in the side of our 2001 pickup. We still drive it. But that dent is a constant reminder of mom's death, my FOO's explosive ending, and my dissociative tendencies to destroy what's mine.

Today, that Gladiator is almost 3 weeks old. I just mowed my front and back yards. I tend to work too fast. I have anxiety issues: I can't do things slowly. I wore myself out and was shaking and a bit out of sorts, but I got behind the wheel anyway to put my yard trailer back into its parking spot. But as I was backing up, I literally forgot I had the trailer on the hitch. My mind was out in space, completely dissociated from what I was doing. I jack knifed the trailer and destroyed my brand-new Jeep's rear bumper. 

History repeats itself again and again.


Probably if I'd have documented the day I destroyed the side of my 2001 truck, I'd probably discover it was 14 years ago today and that I'm rerunning a dissociative trance and ending up in the same results. Anniversary issues come up a lot for me. It wouldn't surprise me in the least to know that these accidents always happen on the same day every year. It is, after all, "a trauma thing."

I stain all my new shirts and coats. I tear all my new pants. I spill coffee or oil onto any new shoes I wear. I spill onto new carpets. I scar new wood floors. I dent walls and doors when I move furniture in the house. I break some part off of every tool and toy that I buy.

I am now willing to accept the truth that I don't seem to believe I have the right to own nice things. I believe there may be a psychosomatic reason why I ALWAYS dent or scrape or scratch or break my nicest cars, or tools, or bikes, or any remodel I do in the house or yard.

A favorite line from my favorite movie, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, is "We accept the love we think we deserve."  I can now alter that saying to: "I accept the damage I think I deserve." My parents worked hard to teach me that I didn't deserve to have nice things. I was always given low-dollar gifts, regardless of how much money my parents had. For my wedding gift, I got a $4 plastic clamp lamp. And yes, it was meant as an insult because I was never supposed to ever have a wife or any children. I was supposed to be that son who dedicated his life to taking care of a nasty, hypocritical, covertly abusive Catholic family. My siblings got crystal and appliances, etc when they got married, but I got a lamp that was hanging on the rack with the candy bars at the checkout stand of some hardware store somewhere.

So, yeah. I know why I damage everything I own. I was taught that I don't deserve better. I go into dissociative trances just long enough to dent and scrape and stain and crack everything I buy for myself.

For me to ride a pristine bike, or wear designer clothes, or drive an undented car, or plan an exciting vacation is a torture all its own. I feel like I don't deserve any of it--and apparently, I also sabotage it all to bring wahtever is mine down to the level of junk that I believe I deserve. Even more telling, I don't believe I have the right to own something that isn't broken, scratched, dented, or flawed. Good things are for good people. Not for CinderFella. It's my job to serve others, and to give good things to others and then build what I can for myself with the leftover pieces.

I'm only comfortable in dented cars, using broken tools, floating in cracked kayaks, etc. I do something to dent or scrape or bend or break everything I own.

C-PTSD gives us large and small problems for life. This is what I would classify as a smaller issue. Not feeling like I am allowed to enjoy nice vacations, nice possessions, etc. is a problem, but it's one of the lessor problems C-PTSD has given me. 

But for today, DANG IT! I CAN'T BELIEVE I'VE ALREADY DENTED UP THE NEW CAR AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes I just get so tired of all the self-made traps and trances I go into.

I've been microdosing for only a couple of days a week, due to the product I'm using gives me bad, bad, bad heartburn. But the microdosing does seem to be helping me a lot, even on the days I don't take it. Today, after denting up my 3-week-old vehicle, I decided to take a capsule to try and keep a clear head about what I did. So...hopefully I can sleep tonight without the sharp pains in my chest. But thankfully, even though I'm distraught over damaging the new car, I am not as angry at myself as I usually am. I'm just heartbroken about the dents, but not angry at myself. That's a new thing.

[Armee]

I am so sorry Papa Coco. I am so so sorry this keeps happening. I am so sorry for the cause of it and the trauma repeating itself.

But is it OK to also admit? I am laughing so hard I am crying. Or crying so hard I am laughing. Because you just described ME to a T. Ditto every single thing you said except the microdosing. It's either really really funny (and frustrating!), or I've cracked.

[sanmagic7]

 

[rainydiary]

I resonate with the feelings of repetition and feeling so much over dents and dings in belongings.  It feels to me like the movie Groundhog Day. It feels so heavy to have this sense that we bring this repetition on ourselves. 

[Papa Coco]

Armee, San, Rainy--thanks for resonating with this "I can't have nice things" sentiment.  Armee, your report that you were crying/laughing at my post got me to laughing hard also. Laughing is a sign that we connected on something. Thanks for breaking the ice with your admission.

A few days have gone by, and I have been ruminating over this for a while. I'm starting to settle down and accept that what is just is. I do have what I need in life. Most of what I have is scratched and dented and stained, and you know what? Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Once a possession or vacation is marred, the stress over that first stain or first dent or first scratch is gone and done with.

My wife and I have this little house on the beach. It was built in 1981 and it needs work. The carpets and vinyl flooring throughout are totally worn out. I have no intention of replacing them. I'm not out to win a perfect home contest, and I like letting my grandsons and their dog come in and go out without having the stress over sand in their shoes. The cabinetry is worn out. Everything is perfectly functional, but in faded, scratched, and stained condition. (It's not bad, it's just obviously in need of freshening up). But I like it. No stress. The kids can be kids without being scolded for soiling Papa's perfect house.

Maybe my need to damage everything I own comes from having been raised in a perfect house. I guess I learned how NOT to be from my mother. Her house was sterile. It was beautiful. Strangers always complimented her on it. She ran an in-home business where she made wedding cakes that were undeniably perfect. Absolutely, freakishly, disturbingly perfect. The cakes were smooth, and perfectly shaped.  Every flower was made by hand. Her perfection led to her becoming semi-famous with the wealthy, by being the cake maker to the stars here in Seattle. She made cakes for the Washington State governor, and some rock bands like Queensryche, and some of the wealthiest families in the Seattle area. For decades--my entire childhood and young adult life--people were in and out of our perfect home to design their perfect cakes and pastries for their pretentious and perfect weddings and celebrations. Mom was never without cakes to make for her customers. From the day she opened up shop in the 1960s until she retired in the 1990s, she had cakes being made nearly every week. My friends weren't allowed in the house. I grew up being allowed to play in my friends' houses, but they weren't allowed in my house. The perfection couldn't be compromised by stupid, sticky, icky, children. I grew up knowing my home was not mine. I was a guest in my mother's house and I was always afraid of making a mess or denting or scratching or staining any of her possessions.

Now that I've calmed down a bit after denting up my brand new car, I'm settling in to feeling like maybe it's actually easier to enjoy the car now that I don't have to worry about that first dent. Life is not about perfection. Perfection makes us crazy. Trying to maintain perfection turns us into angry lunatics. Life is about livability. Flawed humans living in a flawed world. I pray, every hour of every day, to find happiness deep within my body and soul. When I dented the bumper I accused God and the Universe of making me Unhappy, but now, a few days later, I'm thinking the Universe fixed it so I could relax now...the first dent has been installed and the Jeep feels like it's officially MINE now. It's a pickup, and pickups should be dented and scratched. Otherwise they're just luxury cars that get really bad gas mileage.

[Armee]

I'm so sad that you had to grow up like that. And I'm still actually kind of smiling at your ingenious subconscious way of making this car and your other possessions, YOURS. You GET to dent or muss up something and it is ok. It's genius work by your brain.

[Moondance]

 

Yes thinking about it makes me smile as well.

Although you have made peace with it as stated in your second post about it I recognized the pain in the 1st post as well. 

I can relate to being brought up in a sterile environment, way back when FOO were still together and how that has had an effect on my life. 

Thank you for sharing your thought process to get to "the other side". 

[sanmagic7]

yep, PC, i get it.  neat freak mom - cleaning was more important than almost anything, certainly more important than having an emotional connection w/ her kids.  sterile environment, indeed.  i am as messy as they come (different from dirty, tho), and lots of my stuff is stained, scratched, or otherwise imperfect.  doesn't matter.  they do what i need them to do and i'm ok w/ that.

yeah, the first scratch on a new car - i always waited for it to happen, always expected it to happen, and it was a relief when it did happen.  didn't have to think about it anymore after that.  love and hugs 

[Papa Coco]

San , Moondance, Armee, thanks for the support. Perfection sucks. I was raised being compared to it by family and church. I find it interesting how many similarities we, on this forum, have, even down to the little things.  Everyone lives with bumps and bruises and scratches and dents and stains. But those of us who were raised to be criticized by our families and churches for not being absolutely perfect, ended up on this forum feeling bad about ourselves for being normal, flawed humans. Trauma: the gift that keeps on giving. San, I'm like you. My home is messy and cluttered but it's clean. It's not filth, just clutter and disorganized. (and dented and scratched and stained, lol).

I've been extremely busy these past couple of weeks. I've hired people to work on my yard, fence and house, and I've been hauling debris for them in my truck and trailer so they can keep working. They keep me pretty busy. Also I'm feeling a bit better emotionally, and able to reorganize and declutter in small, but progressive motions.

I'm doing pretty well these days. I credit the microdosing capsules I bought. They don't have psilocybin in them, so they are perfectly legal, but they do have other, legal components of mushrooms in them. Somehow, ever since I started taking them, not every day, but two to four times a week, I've just been feeling more stable, better at making decisions, more able to throw away clutter and old memories. So far, I'm giving this microdosing product a thumbs up.

My wife and I have both started to fall into situations with friends and her coworkers who are struggling with narcissistic, incompetent, immature and bully parents. What we've been through with our own two FOOs, and what we've learned through books and  experience, and what I've specifically learned through therapy and this forum, is making both my wife and I into people who can help. Sort of like how recovering addicts make good addiction counselors, we are recovering Gaslight victims who are able to help other gaslight victims gain a sense of not being alone with their emotional ups and downs.  For me, reaching out to share my life with others who feel isolated and confused makes me feel like I'm part of the cure, and less of a pointless victim. It powers my sails a bit. It helps to feel like I'm able to take my own experiences and turn them into help for others who are where I've been, (or even where I still am in some cases). Feeling useful in any way really helps me, and it staves off that Grimm Reaper character who comes around whenever I feel absolutely useless to the world.

The sun is shining in Seattle finally, so I'm going to spend some more time today in the garage. My new Jeep is 2 feet longer than my old one, so I'm having a heck of a time getting it in the garage where it's safe from car thieves and bird droppings. It's slow progress. Part of me still thinks I need every possession I've ever acquired. The microdosing helps me feel less trapped by the nostalgia and fear of getting rid of what no longer serves me.

Meanwhile I'm sort of on a short pause with the forum. I'm reading posts from many of the participants, but feeling writer's block when I try to respond. So, to avoid saying dumb things that make me feel bad later, I'm just keeping quiet. This will pass. A day will come where I feel like I know what to say again, and I'll be back, responding to posts.

[Moondance]

So great to hear from you and that you are doing well, all things considered.

Enjoy yourself Papa Coco, enjoy your beautiful wife and nourishing yourselves and others.