MEDICATION TIME

If giving is more important than receiving, when is the right time to stop thinking about ourselves and our own needs? I'm one of those people who give my 150% in anything I do, but have felt at times my giving nature has set me up to be used. Since I don't know how to be any other way and have no real desire to alter who I am, I'm left with the question of when is enough really enough?

If the strong really will inherit the earth, is it the emotional vampires (people who drain us completely dry) who will reign supreme eventually or will it be the do-gooders and hermits of the world?

I'm tired of my cave, but afraid to meander out amongst the masses for fear of the unknown. The unknown has screwed me over too many times. I feel weak and fragile right now. Sleepy? Yep! You betcha! I had a horrible day yesterday and couldn't unwind enough to close my eyes.

One friend was talking about suicide and another one was ranting and spewing venomous hate and discontent my way. I actually got accused of not knowing what real pain feels like. I was told I didn't know how it feels to lose a parent who was more than just a parent, but also a friend. I was told I didn't know how it feels to lose everything and to have nothing. I was told I don't know what it feels like to love so intensely that mere words cannot come close to describing the feeling. Yes, it was another exhausting session with Buddy!

[Karen, you stupid bitch, pay attention when you're in the presence of greatness, a legend in his own mind and learn to be humble! lol Like that's ever gonna happen in this lifetime!]

Gratitude statement: I'm extremely grateful that while not answering the phone may be morally or ethically wrong...it's not illegal! Self-preservation rules, baby! Thank God, yesterday is over!

A CAVE GIRL & HER TOYS

No post! Just a picture of where I sit and type and type and type....

Items featured in picture from left to right: a laptop screen, tassels from my 3 children's graduations, a hand statue giving the peace sign (to remind me of my roots), a mouse because I hate the built-in laptop mouse sitting on wizard of oz mouse pad (Dear Dorothy: Hate Oz, Took the shoes. Find your own way home! Toto), a bottle of hand sanitizer for all my dirty jobs & a pencil holder made by my youngest son in 1986 filled with writing implements and scissors sitting on the wooden box I used to keep filled with joints (the box has been empty since 1985 and is now used for paperclips), my trusty 8-ball for all my major decisions sitting on top of my kitty drink coaster, my rolodex sitting on my "little black book" (names with 5 stars beside them probably all have E.D. now), wizard of oz paraphernalia (ruby slippers are made from cast iron and can really pack a wallop...beware wicked witches!) sitting in front of my beautiful reverse painted lamp. On the wall - metal wizard of oz poster and candles on window sill. I guess the only things missing are some incense and a circle of people singing Kumbaya (or Somewhere Over The Rainbow...wait a minute! I already posted that song, didn't I?).

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful for all the great decisions my 8-ball has made for me.

CAVE LIFE 101

People with alternative lifestyles or who have a different sexual orientation than the rest of mainstream America may reside in a closet until they decide to emerge, but depressed people dwell in a dark, dingy cave many times filled with items of convenience so they won't have to ever emerge. A few years ago, I purchased a small refrigerator and a microwave to put in my bedroom, so I wouldn't have to leave it. That was around the same time as I bought a 52-inch HDTV. I should have seen the writing on the wall, but like most things, I ignored the warning signs until the damage had been done.

Hey, people I live in Florida and in an area where the beaches don't suck. As described in the following quote: "The gentle breeze is still soothing just as the crystal-clear waves roll in from the emerald sea. The flawless white sand is just as soft as before, and the sea oats still dance for a glowing sun" Pensacola boasts to have the whitest beaches in Florida. So why does a person who once was a sun worshipper no longer even venture out into the light of day? No, I haven't joined the ranks of the undead! Not yet, at least!

I think it has to do with having an addictive personality. I always loved to binge and then I'd grow bored with the object of my addiction. This behavior held true in every aspect of my life. For example, I loved to read, but unlike a normal person who would read a book and then go onto the next or perhaps take a break between books, I would read 10 books in 2 weeks and then be done for 6 months or more. I buy books now and never read them. I sit and look at the cover or maybe read the first page a few hundred times. I guess the same holds true with the beach. I burnt myself out on being sun burned. Actually, that's probably a good thing!

Tomorrow, I have my next yoyo appointment. I know she wants me to start dealing with issues I'd rather just leave in the cave. I'd rather discuss how I've spent the last 2 days cleaning and rearranging my cave and how good that made me feel...physically drained, but mentally better. I'd rather talk about why I feel the need to throw something away if I haven't used it in 6 months and why I have so little in which I assign sentimental value. Material objects have never meant very much to me...easy come, easy go! I'd rather discuss anything other than sexual abuse. I think I may be in a horribly foul mood tomorrow!

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful it's today and not tomorrow.

SECONDARY GAIN PAIN

I ordered two workbooks my yoyo inspector wants me to do work in. When the package came, I immediately opened the book to see if the order was right, but then took the box and deposited it in my bedroom, the infamous cave. Did I ever tell anyone what color my cave walls are painted? They're bohemian red (dark red). I have African masks on the walls and a few wooden African statues. Over my bed or at least one of my beds, the one in the "red room" (I have 3 places in the house I attempt sleep) I have a large framed Wizard of Oz poster.

Getting back to the point...my workbooks sat in the box until last night while I was watching Bill Maher's HBO show Real Time. I picked up the one titled The Courage to Heal Workbook For Women and Men Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse and held it in my hands for about 2 seconds before tossing it back in the box. Nope! I wasn't ready for that one yet!
The other seemed less intimidating: Pain Recovery How to Find Balance and Reduce Suffering from Chronic Pain A Comprehensive Opioid-Free Approach. How's that for a title?

I opened the book and started reading. Almost immediately, there was a large caution written? Basically, it said cold turkey isn't the way to kick a habit. I wrote an "OOPS!!" in the margin. I guess that's not a good way to start a new program by doing things the Mildred Ratched method (like that way has worked so well for me in the past).

I got through the first exercise okay. I had to identify my causes of chronic pain from a rather long list. I checked off what applied to me. The next exercise, I read and went blank. I really didn't know what to write. I read it again and still drew a blank, so I went on to the next exercise. This little jewel was titled: Secondary Gain: A Hidden Barrier to Recovery. I felt like someone had slapped me in the face. I instantly felt so embarrassed and ashamed that I wanted to runaway or at least never come out of my cave again. I can't do this! I can't make myself feel worse while I'm already teetering on the edge. My very thin lifeline has been being able to express how I feel and now I feel I shouldn't do that because it's a secondary gain. WTF!!! Retreat! Stay silent! Don't ask, don't tell!

To quote the book: Secondary gain refers to any perceived benefit you receive from having pain. If not indentified, secondary gain gives you unconscious reasons for holding onto your pain. This does not mean you are pretending to hurt for the benefits you get, just that the perceived benefits make pain rewarding in some ways and thus more complicated to treat. (pain junkie aka glutton for punishmnet)

My next blog entry will deal with the list of perceived payoffs I get for being in pain. I need awhile to warp my short-circuited brain around this so I can start to move past it. This isn't something I want to do because just the thought of secondary gain is causing me pain, stress, embarrassment and shame, but since I'm a glutton for punishment I'll do it and I'll do it with honesty and conviction.

Gratitude statement: Although recovering is a difficult and lifelong process, taking the first step is the hardest. I'm thankful for having the courage and good sense to take that first step.