I’m feel so trapped today! Trapped raising traumatized children, haunted by my choices and mistakes… I was plagued last night with anger…deep hatred bubbling to the surface…longing to unburden my secrets.
Looking for a therapist isn’t easy. Especially when psychology today insists each family member have a different one. I am my families’ voice piece…and pensive.
In interviewing and introducing my children to yes another professional we open wounds again. Some have abscessed…one tiny lance and the gush out years of pressure and confusion. How was all this contained in one tiny abscess?! It is foul, and with the initial pressure gone, I want let the surface heal and move on…desperate for any illusion of normalcy and health. But now a profession is massaging out all the infection hidden so deep beneath the surface. It hurts. I want to vomit.
Why must I be the voice-piece, pensive and advocate? Where is my advocate? Where is my pensive? Where is my voice-piece? I need a flesh and blood person, making phone calls, telling our story, getting supports in place…so I can get on with the business of living, with finding some sort of meaning and reason to wake in the morning. Some sort of peace and joy and hope.
I think hope must be a brain chemical.
My pharmacy messed up my meds…so now I have to wait. And my chemistry is so sticking off! I try use all my skills, all the tools in my tool box to cope…but I can’t even reach them. Triggers on top of bag brain chemistry…
I know they think it’s my fault…the doctors. They think I’m a dysfunctional parent who should not have ever had children. They think I should have known, or that I had it coming.
When your chemistry is off…everything in your brain blows out of proportion…it all becomes too heavy to bear. And I want it to end…just. End.
And I’m so angry!! So freaking angry!! Where is all the promised help? Where are all those I’ve carried? Where is my promised God and his angels? Why is there no one? Not one person willing to drop their load and carry mine for a while?
I may be mentally ill, but I believe I have been a good friend…to so many people…a good sister, a good wife, a good mother, a good daughter, a good citizen. I’ve certainly given it my all. But I’m so tired. I just can’t continue to do this alone. I can’t be among the privileged and happy when my life is so messed, up.