Accepting My Demons

October 7, 2013

Dear M,

     I’m so angry still.  You were playing a show on Saturday night and I knew exactly where you would be.  I fantasized about showing up and storming the stage, ripping out clumps of your hair and kicking you repeatedly in the face.  This did not feel like the usual hate fantasy.  I was thinking through all the logistics as well as the likelihood of getting tossed into jail.  I wish there was some course of action I could take against you, something that would wound you deeply but I realize that anything I do will only be turned back against me.  I am trying so hard to stay in the light but this black mark you have burned into my soul is hard to ignore at times.  I want to destroy your angelic face and blacken your golden hair.  I want to give you an appearance that is more suited to your lack of a soul.

M. W., I fucking hate you.

***

     A large part of the reason I wanted to publicize this blog is that I wanted to be honest about the darker side of recovery.  I had never experienced hate and rage of this magnitude in my life, and the experience was horrifying.  I did not think I had a dark side capable of the urges I was having.  It says something about the type of person I am that I never acted on these impulses because there were hundreds of times where the urge to create violence was so strong that it was physically uncomfortable in my body.  Over the years, these uncomfortably intense episodes have mostly subsided, but even now I get worked up once in awhile.  Just this afternoon I awoke from a dream where I was entering a state of rage and physically shutting down upon running into M in public.  In the dream, he was staring at me from outside the window of an RV and I caught a glimpse of him in my periphery.  Overcome with emotion, I motioned to my boyfriend to alert him to what was causing my reaction and he also responded with more “fight” than “flight.”

     Since that dream I have been battling the urge to look at M’s Instagram account to see what new fictions he is creating about his life and lover.  I’m morbidly curious to witness how long it takes her to see through his fucked-up worldview to find the demon lurking underneath.  A well-timed phone call from my mother stopped me in my tracks and now I’m centering my energy on channeling some hate into my blog rather than getting myself all riled up about whatever bullshit he is creating in his personal life. 

     I have come to the conclusion that this amount of rage is natural after someone experiences an extreme violation that is personally directed at them.  I’m still bitter and angry that this human felt it necessary to use me and manipulate me for their own pleasure, with no regard to my safety or well-being while pretending to have my best interests at heart.  I’m still angry that he continued to lie to my face at every opportunity even after I had blown a hole into his deceptions.  I’m angry that two years of my life and thousands of dollars have been spent on my recovery thus far and that I have had to resort to using a medication to get my life back on track and to feel happiness.  I’m angry about so many things, and I guess the major point of this post is to provide some hope that for people just now going through this, that it is possible to work through the rage without inflicting harm on yourself or others.  Physical exertion, such as long, long walks with no cell phone (so you can’t break no contact and dial up whoever it is to scream at them while working through a rage episode) are extremely useful for working through intense emotion.  Eventually the intensity will lessen, well-founded though it may be, and a peaceful life can be re-established.  It was difficult to not judge myself as a monster or a “crazy ex” while working through the anger but I have finally made peace with the idea that some betrayals are so huge that uncharacteristic reactions are to be expected. 

Letting Go of Fear: Thoughts on Anti-Depressants and Kitty Cats

October 1, 2013

Dear M,

     Today the anger is creeping back in.  The more holes I poke into your persona, the more enraged I become.  Granted, the anger has severely lessened over the last ten months and it no longer threatens to burn me alive.  Still, I am surprised at its persistence.  I have now spent as much time being enraged at you as I spent being infatuated with you.  It is unlike me to hold onto hate for so long. 

     As of now, twenty months have been consumed by you.  It’s still hard for me to accept the truth, and to see you for what you really are.

     I’m still tempted to show up at places where I know you’ll be, even though I know it will ultimately drive me crazier.  I could accomplish so much!  I could ask if you’re gaining weight and suggest some fashion fixes (such as no longer wearing tight, white undershirts out in public that make you look like Frank from “King of the Hill”).  I could tell you to never speak to, approach, or contact me in any way for the remainder of your time on this planet.  I could record your voice saying terrible things about MS and give her a copy of it.  Or I could just sit there and cry like a fool over you.

***

     By the end of 2014, the anger had pretty much dissipated, yet I was still experiencing severe depression.  It got so bad that I made the decision to quit drinking (again), and shortly thereafter I dumped my boyfriend because I couldn’t feel love anymore…not just for him, but for my cat, my family, or myself.  When I began having suicidal thoughts AGAIN, I finally made the choice to try a prescription anti-depressant.  I couldn’t bear the thought of spending yet another holiday season, bargaining with myself for my own survival.  At the end of November, I started taking Wellbutrin and had a pretty bad reaction to it.  I spent an entire weekend crying and reliving the trauma of narcissistic abuse which ended with a panic attack in a restaurant.  I began disassociating with my body and felt as if I no longer had control of my hands.  My doctor immediately switched me over to Paxil, and the ride has been comparatively smooth ever since. 

     For the first month, I struggled with side-effects such as dehydration, constipation, and sleepiness which left me feeling drugged throughout the day.  Work was a little difficult because I felt slightly intoxicated, making it hard to focus.  The side-effects were obnoxious, but not unmanageable, especially when compared to the positive effects.  I began to love my cat again, and I got back together with my boyfriend, as I suddenly remembered that I love him too.  The most amazing thing for me was that, for the first time in my life, the negative chorus of voices that have been criticizing and worrying since the day I was born, were suddenly whispering instead of shouting.  I practically feel like a different person because I so strongly associate with these negative thoughts.  Not having them has been like having my right arm cut off…except for how much more productive I have been since leaving them behind.  I have been able to make business phone calls and decisions, ask my peers for help, and begin tackling a photography project that has been intimidating me for two years.  I have also been more thoughtful and giving, since my usual stinginess around my time, energy and money is lessening.  I have even begun updating my wardrobe for the first time in over a year!  Also, projects that have been on the backburner for YEARS due to my fear-based, irrational thinking (You can’t garden because you can’t handle watering plants!  You can’t compost because making dirt is hard and complicated and time consuming!) are getting accomplished!  I now have four pots of collard greens taking care of themselves in the yard…because…rain.  And a bin full of compost cooking away…because putting trash into a compost bin instead of a trash can is NOT complicated nor time consuming!  I feel like my fears and worries have settled themselves hierarchically, rather than me being equally terrified and resistant to every single thing.  Now I feel appropriately worried about big deal things and less worried or NOT worried about things that absolutely don’t matter. 

     I was concerned that taking a medication would make me not worried about everything, resulting in a couch potato, pothead-like existence, but quite the opposite has been happening and I’m astonished.  I feel that with the help of this medication, I may actually have a chance at accomplishing some pretty scary career goals, and even some long-suppressed and hard to talk about family goals.  The most reassuring thing of all is that I still have the ability to feel angry at M.  I do not believe that this anger is in any way misplaced, and I believe that my continued ill-will toward him will keep me out of harm’s way.  There is no way he can lure me back into his disordered universe if I continue to have a negative, visceral reaction to thoughts of him. 

     As a disclaimer, I have been 100% anti-medication since I was 16.  This is honestly a stance I never thought I’d back down from.  I have been a long-time sufferer of depression, but I have been able to manage it with diet and exercise until I met M.  Even then I got through some horrific times as I contemplated suicide time and time again.  I’m not sure what led to my most recent bout of detachment which ultimately led to yet another round of suicidal thinking, but I finally reached my point of absolute desperation.  I did not think I could survive yet another breakup and the dead feeling of not even loving my cat.  I have since learned to regard my cat as a bellwether of my moods.  As she is a neutral party, my feelings toward her are more indicative of my moods rather than of her.  I have hope that I am nearing the end of my recovery as I begin to move on from this trauma and start making progress towards a life filled with love, peace, and respect (and kitty cats).