Learning, learning, learning. This therapy thing has me constantly learning about myself.
My homework from therapy Tuesday was to observe children at various ages of when I was abused and write in my blog. I haven’t done any observation, but I have been thinking.
The past few years I have been in two different places. Two different places in my mind. The intensity of this feeling, of two me’s, over time and my becoming aware of it is bothersome.
I used to be somewhat happy. Just living day by day, not worrying much about life or money. Enjoying myself with what I had. Really only longing for love.
Ever since, what I will call “my breakdown” the distinction between the two is more evident.
First there was the angry me. I went from high to angry to low, all in the course of one day. Usually when I would get irritated or angry it would last all day. I could be having a normally happy day and as soon as someone said something wrong to me, or pissed me off, my anger and anxiety would just continue to mount. Growing until I just couldn’t take it anymore, building until eventually I would explode. Nothing or no one could stop it, or me.
These outbursts could happen anywhere and be directed at anyone. Strangers, people I worked with, people I love. Fortunately for me these angry outbursts occurred only verbally. Never any physical confrontation or conflict. I never have been violent, and imagine never will be. I was never violent, even when I was under the influence of any substance.
It got too much. So much anger and disappointment with myself and my life that I just couldn’t control it anymore. What a horrible feeling it was for me to be unable to control myself, to control my reaction to people or events, and my inability to control my mouth.
Eventually my behavior and my mouth led to me being let go from my job. Crap! That certainly didn’t help my mood any.
So I sank lower and lower into depression. Finally after months of uncontrolled behavior, I just kind of gave up. Gave up on me, gave up on life. Now I didn’t even want to get out of bed. It was best not to care about anything. That way you don’t get hurt and you’re not disappointed by anything or anyone.
Now here I am approximately one year later. The anxiety and angry outbursts are almost gone, only by means of medication. The depression? Still here. I have good days and weeks, I have bad days and weeks. The bad outnumber the good. I’ll have one good day, or maybe even a week or two, followed by many weeks of depression.
Not wanting to get out of bed. Not wanting to take care of basic hygiene. Not even wanting to do something I would probably enjoy. Not even wanting to be here. At least I am not wanting to jump off any bridges.
Oh how I wish I could go back to the days of being somewhat happy. It’s a real drag, for me and everyone around me.
Now those are the two me’s. Sometimes a little happy, mostly sad.