The need to write is strong, but the words aren’t easy to come by. My mind is split. Raked out the center. Emptied of all reality. I’m disillusioned. Our actions are those taken by a troubled woman, but she feels no urgency at all. What for one woman might be a cry for help, for this other woman is simply everyday life.
Anxiety still has been high. Some wonder why we just don’t face what we fear and the anxiety will lessen. This continual running, or avoiding as Therapist would eagerly point out, only makes the anxiety grow stronger, gives it more power.
Power. Therapist said we were giving abuser X all the power back,; I guess because we are engaging in eating disorder behaviors again. I don’t know that I see it that way. I don’t have a logical explanation for the eating disorder behaviors, but I don’t see how it is related to abuser X. The timing is suspect, I acknowledge. We started back into behaviors shortly after seeing abuser X in October. But when we refuse a meal or purge, abuser X is not on the mind.
On the topic of abuser X, he made another appearance in our dreams. It was a benign dream, if that is an appropriate categorization. There was no abuse in the dream; we just heard his voice and his denials of what he did to us. But something did happen in the dream that freaked me out, and I find it hard to admit because I don’t know what it means, and I’m afraid of what it says about us/me. At the end of the dream, there was one of the littles. I could only see her back, not her face, but I knew who she was. I was scared by her presence. She was scared too. What shook me about the dream is that Therapist was there. He physically got down to her level, on one knee, and told this little girl that she could tell him anything, any secret, and it would be safe. And in the dream you could feel that this little girl wanted to tell him something but was too afraid. Then, Therapist whispered to her that they could go into the bathroom and she could tell him her secret. At that point I woke up, but I woke up with feelings of being safe with Therapist and protected by him. I shudder to think what that says about us. I’m sure there’s some fancy psychological phenomenon going on, and I hate that it’s happening. I know he’s not our protector, so why would I dream it? It’s embarrassing to admit that he was involved in our dream that way.
I think it interesting that he offered to take her into the bathroom because, as weird as it sounds, that has always been a safe place for me. I don’t know if it’s the privacy of the bathroom, the ability to lock the door, or what, but the bathroom floor has always been a place of refuge.
When the body was little and we were too afraid to sleep in the bed, we slept on the floor, eventually the bathroom floor. And over the years, throughout anxiety attacks and flashbacks, it’s the cold bathroom floor that we’ve sought for safety. So I find it interesting that is where Therapist offered to take the little girl.
The image of the little girl stayed with me throughout the morning. We had a series of intrusive pictures of the old bedroom, and that put us on edge and fueled the anxiety.
I don’t know what else we have to do to get better. It seems the key to getting better is locked away with the other members. How does everybody heal? Do the memories have to be shared in order to recover?
Today at work while doing a mindless task the stray thought wafted across our conscious regarding if “normal” people ever think of suicide. I guess the thought stems from the meeting with Dietician we had today. It left us feeling hopeless and powerless and like death is the only way out. Not that I’m thinking of suicide. But when the thought floated to me, I wondered who was thinking of suicide and how serious they were.
So after saying all this, I repeat what I wrote in the beginning. My mind is split. Half of me thinks there is something wrong with me, and the other half thinks everything is okay and the eating disorder behaviors aren’t a big deal. I know something is wrong, but I don’t even have to try and outrun myself. It just comes so naturally. So, thinking out loud, if running from things comes naturally, then I’ll have to do something “unnatural” to face my fears and anxieties. But I don’t know what that is.
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