Despite my attempts to be as open as possible in my entries there are certain areas of my mind and soul that I am not ready to expose to the world for critique.
The darkest areas of of my being.
The issues buried so deep ... protected so well they should never see the light of day.
The thing about packing things so tight and so deep is it doesn't take much pressure to start the seams ripping. Once the breach begins it is only a matter of time before everything unravels ... and the pain of the tearing fabric is intense ... beyond words ... beyond emotions.
It is amazing what the human spirit can tolerate ...
It is scary what the mind will do to cope with such pain.
I am beginning to learn this.
I cannot explain ... I do not understand ... I don't know that I want to.
My muse is painting disturbing, macabre images ... telling dark, frightening stories. It is not unusual for her to be a bit chilling or somber ... this often releases anxiety and tension. Recently she seems to have incited darker more terrifying thoughts ...
Thoughts that have encouraged alarming actions ...
Actions I have little control over.
After discussing my issues with my doctor he added a new antidepressant. It has helped a little ... but just a little. I feel a bit less edgy ... a little less physical pain ... a little more clear minded.
But the voices remain ...
They taunt and torment me ... much like my classmates from years ago.
Although the rage is much less than a few weeks ago, the voices evoke strong emotional reactions from me ... emotions I am not sure I can deal with ... emotions that eat away at the foundation of my being.
This past week was very emotional ... too many things to discuss compounded atop each other increasing my stress exponentially ... chipping away at my emotionally stability ... encouraging the voices to harass me.
It started with the now familiar murmurs in the distance, and like before it graduated to the laughing and taunting.
I couldn't drown them out ... I couldn't ignore them.
I felt the emotions building.
The voices began chanting, "It won't hurt ... it won't hurt."
I am torn about how much detail I want to give. At some point I may feel more comfortable discussing this in more detail. I have given some cryptic hints, so you may have an idea what I am referring to. All I will say for now is this ...
They were right ... it didn't hurt.
I found a moment of relief ... but merely a moment. As I thought about what I had done I began to become more agitated.
It is quite disconcerting to think I may not be in control of my own mind ... my thoughts ... my actions.
I have much to work on ... much to learn ... many issues that are surfacing that will need to be resolved if I ever expect to find a level of normal.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
So here's the deal ...
This is my blog.
Let me refer you to my very first post A Proper Introduction
Simply put ... I write what is on my mind, how I'm feeling, how things are affecting me ... nothing more ... nothing less. If you have issues with this then please do not read.
If it seems that many of my entries are negative or that I do not take the feelings of others into consideration ... well, let's think about this a moment ...
- I've lived the majority of my life trying to hide who I really am. I've tried to live the life society expects ... to be the upstanding family man, and despite the immense happiness and love my wife and son bring me, I have never truly been happy until recently.
- I was harassed, teased and bullied for 12 years of school ... 14 if you count college. I was never accepted for who I was, so I tried to change and was still not accepted. I dreaded waking up. I dreaded school, recess, lunch ... everything. I had no relief ... only brief escapes into my own mind.
- I am the youngest of eight children ... I was treated like the youngest. There was a great deal of tension and often animosity between me and one of my sisters while we grew up. This is not saying that there were no good times, only that the teasing, and sometimes hurtful comments at home were compounded on top of what I suffered at school ... even my own father called me an effeminate queer when I was growing up.
- My wife and I lost our first son at three months due to SIDS.
- Our second son was born with Respiratory Distress Syndrome and spent several weeks in the NICU 50+ miles away before he could come.
- The year my father died was the last year that we had a true 4th of July family gathering. I sat and watched the family split as 2 other family members had an argument over political views. I do not believe the family ever recovered from that.
- I watched helplessly as Pam sank into a deep depression. I held her numerous times as she had anxiety attacks and could not do anything to help her. These issues are a continuing battle.
- Pam eventually lost her job due to her depression and anxiety. We lived on 1/2 our normal income for several years. We are still financially floundering ... scraping by would be making it sound better than it is.
- Eventually I began to suffer from depression, anxiety and insomnia. Watching Pam worry about me felt like someone was ripping my innermost spirit from my body.
- I finally decided to seek counseling for my gender identity issues. Everything was going to turn around ... but to do this I have to face all the demons from the past. I have to deal with all the issues that prevented me from transitioning early in life.
- My brother Walt committed suicide shortly after I started counseling.
- It was discovered that I had a mass in my chest that had grown to the diameter of a volleyball. I was also told there was a chance I had lymphoma.
- My mom began having great difficulty getting around. She recently had back surgery to help relieve the pain.
- The family consensus process to get the house ready for her has not been smooth. Although there was a lot of work accomplished, there was also a mess left for a smaller number of people to clean up.
- During this time I've slid back toward depressive modes ... but it's different ... out of control. After discussing the symptoms with my therapist she believes that I am suffering a form of PTSD.
So ... do I seem a bit negative at times? Yes.
Do I take everyone's feelings or points of view into consideration when I write? Well ... do they take my feelings and point of view into consideration? Seriously ... why would I write something for the specific purpose of hurting someone's feelings? Since this blog is about my trying to coping with all I have dealt with in life, then sometimes it will touch on things that may not make some people happy.
Like I said ... you don't have to read it.
I know that at least some members of my family read my blog. I would love to tell all the silly happy stories from the youth group at the local church, or some of the goofy things we did in the hay field behind the house ... but those aren't the memories that curse my mind as I flail in the abyss once again.
I did not ask to be born transgender ... but I must deal with it.
I did not ask to suffer from depression, I did not ask to have anxiety attacks ... but they are part of my life.
I did not ask to have medical issues ... but they needed to be taken care of
I never wanted to see my mom suffer ... but we need to do what we can to keep her healthy for hopefully many more years.
And obviously I did not want to experience PTSD ... this honestly scares me. I have no control. I go from zero to rage in 1.2 seconds and sometimes do not even know what triggered me.
I honestly do not like the term. PTSD is what soldiers, police officers and other people who have seen and suffered a great deal of trauma suffer from. I am just vividly remembering and reliving events from the past.
I have not survived this long to give up now.
I have not started my transition only to hide who I am just because some are uncomfortable with the real me.
This is not an easy road, but it is the road I am destined to travel.