Can't see beyond myself
This chiseled vessel of mine
Turning to dreams
Small wormholes of the mind
Tiny snippets, seconds long
A dot on the fabric of time
I plead and pray and beg
Please, please this night
A whisper, a glimpse;
A secret, a sight
Tell me anything
Give me a clue
I can't seem to get it
So I count on you
My dreams....
My dark, distant dreams.
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Dreams
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Anxiety
My name is Cristina D. Johnson.
I heard a term on a t.v. show that I looked up yesterday: Rape Trauma Syndrome.I read something that struck me immediately: "pronounced internal tremor."
I was knocked aback. I have described this before as feeling as if "my bones were shaking" - it was relieving to see there's a name for it, and an apt one, at that.
My anxiety has gone through the roof and has made me, at times, completely dysfunctional. The only option for me, for medications, is to go to the emergency room....which causes me huge anxiety. How ironic.
My therapist says the reason I don't find benzos (benzodiazapines) addictive, is because of the level of my anxiety. Rather than "getting high" from them -as I know some do - it brings my anxiety level to a manageable point so I don't feel any affects, other than that, which is why I am able to take them PRN.
I have always been an opponent of medications and, even therapy.
But my anxiety levels have gotten so bad that I have spent days at a time holed up and terrified. Now, I cannot tolerate touch - I can't even tolerate the touch of a door frame if I walk through a door. I have to be careful not to touch it. Every touch, it feels as if my all my cells are screaming, "DON'T TOUCH ME!"
The anxiety manifests itself in other, more troubling physical ways but I won't go into it because it is embarrassing and I don't understand it. It is frightening.
I have been listening to a guided meditation nightly for about two or three weeks (I believe). I have to wonder if - because of this meditation - my mind is opening to levels of memory and awareness as I sleep. I like this particular one because - even though it claims to be for abundance - it is really about awareness and moving forward. I like this.
But I wonder if it hasn't opened some windows and doors in my mind because the symptoms I am experiencing have really intensified over the past couple weeks. It's hard to say because it collaborates with the timing of extreme stress and having no anti-anxiety medications.
So perhaps it is a combination. Who knows.
Regardless the cause, the memories and anxiety, sleeplessness and nightmares, are debilitating.
The meditation works well to help me sleep, although it doesn't help me stay asleep.
Today I awoke (again), feeling as wound as a guitar string. It is difficult to function because such high anxiety causes physical exhaustion, but my mind won't stop spinning or slow down so I can't sleep. Everything is amplified. I am so damn tired.
I have to go out today - it's laundry day. I wish I had a dryer. Then I could do the laundry here. Ugh.
My anxiety shoots up on Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. It's not the typical "oh brother, it's Monday again," kind of thing. It's a dread that I can't even describe. It's a fear; it's a hope that I can make it through another four days of high-anxiety and high-stress. When Thursdays come, I relax more, but it is still very difficult.
I will be glad when I am through this.
I heard a term on a t.v. show that I looked up yesterday: Rape Trauma Syndrome.I read something that struck me immediately: "pronounced internal tremor."
I was knocked aback. I have described this before as feeling as if "my bones were shaking" - it was relieving to see there's a name for it, and an apt one, at that.
My anxiety has gone through the roof and has made me, at times, completely dysfunctional. The only option for me, for medications, is to go to the emergency room....which causes me huge anxiety. How ironic.
My therapist says the reason I don't find benzos (benzodiazapines) addictive, is because of the level of my anxiety. Rather than "getting high" from them -as I know some do - it brings my anxiety level to a manageable point so I don't feel any affects, other than that, which is why I am able to take them PRN.
I have always been an opponent of medications and, even therapy.
But my anxiety levels have gotten so bad that I have spent days at a time holed up and terrified. Now, I cannot tolerate touch - I can't even tolerate the touch of a door frame if I walk through a door. I have to be careful not to touch it. Every touch, it feels as if my all my cells are screaming, "DON'T TOUCH ME!"
The anxiety manifests itself in other, more troubling physical ways but I won't go into it because it is embarrassing and I don't understand it. It is frightening.
I have been listening to a guided meditation nightly for about two or three weeks (I believe). I have to wonder if - because of this meditation - my mind is opening to levels of memory and awareness as I sleep. I like this particular one because - even though it claims to be for abundance - it is really about awareness and moving forward. I like this.
But I wonder if it hasn't opened some windows and doors in my mind because the symptoms I am experiencing have really intensified over the past couple weeks. It's hard to say because it collaborates with the timing of extreme stress and having no anti-anxiety medications.
So perhaps it is a combination. Who knows.
Regardless the cause, the memories and anxiety, sleeplessness and nightmares, are debilitating.
The meditation works well to help me sleep, although it doesn't help me stay asleep.
Today I awoke (again), feeling as wound as a guitar string. It is difficult to function because such high anxiety causes physical exhaustion, but my mind won't stop spinning or slow down so I can't sleep. Everything is amplified. I am so damn tired.
I have to go out today - it's laundry day. I wish I had a dryer. Then I could do the laundry here. Ugh.
My anxiety shoots up on Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. It's not the typical "oh brother, it's Monday again," kind of thing. It's a dread that I can't even describe. It's a fear; it's a hope that I can make it through another four days of high-anxiety and high-stress. When Thursdays come, I relax more, but it is still very difficult.
I will be glad when I am through this.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Chaos and Panic
My name is Cristina D. Johnson.
I have PTSD and DID but I am not defined by them. Rather, I am temporarily impeded by them as I walk through this painful journey of self-discovery and introspection; memory-recall; re-learning; therapy and guidance.
The biggest inhibitor of these disorders, for me, is the unpredictable nature of them. For example, the other night during a Christmas gathering, someone mentioned a single word and once the word was spoken, flashes of my father - my first and most brutal abuser - began flickering in my mind, like those old-time reels of film. Click-click-click-click, as I felt warmth spread through my body. But because of where we were and because we were so surrounded by people, some "part" of me, held me together and I breathed through the moment.
Strange things cause these outbursts, whether expressed or internalized. When internalized, it feels like a pressure cooker; When externalized, it's like the lid has blown off the pressure cooker.
Occasionally, the lid is gently removed, to let off some of the steam and during those times, there is a moment of relief, immediately followed by (sometimes days of) regret, fear and intimidation. "Oh God I've said too much...I've revealed too much."
White vans; the scent of Vanilla; burgundy vans; holidays; the way someone holds their cigarette; certain words/phrases; smells; telephones; vehicles; certain styles of a moustache; guitars; playgrounds; strangers; some Latinos; grocery shopping....
These and other things set me off and I don't even know it.
Bill unwittingly sent me spiraling into panic one night when he said, "If you're too hot, you can turn the heater down," as we were in the car. I was immediately thrown back into the cab of a truck where - countless times - I was raped and/or beaten as a child.
This was following a phone call from my therapist, which followed a troubling trip to the grocery store. It piled up until finally I was shaking and scrambling for a Risperdal in my purse, dropping my cigarette, discombobulated and all I could do was keep telling myself, "It's okay - it's Bill. It's okay - It's Bill..."
I don't like phones or phone calls and I never (or rarely) answer any phone call that shows an unknown number.
I know where this comes from, but that's another story.
Friday night, Bill and I were up until past 5 a.m. just sitting at the dining room table, talking and having drinks. It was nice. We played spades (he won) and we talked about all manner of things - which we often do. We are good together in that way. We've always had great conversations.
I lit several incense. I love the incense, plus I got a bunch of new incense and burners for Christmas. I was so tickled.
I received a text as we were heading to bed from our neighbor. "Could you guys please chill out with the smoke/incense? It's going through the walls. Thanks."
I panicked.
I felt horrible. I apologized profusely. I heard nothing back.
That was Friday.
Saturday I awoke still semi-panicked. Afraid to do anything. Very jumpy - constantly on Trevor to be quiet, stop talking so loud, stop slamming doors, stop this, stop that. I, once again, hid inside - away from the windows. Time came to cook dinner...
I was slicing the zucchini and squash and it seemed like every time the knife slid through the vegetable and hit the cutting board, a bomb was going off. "Be quiet!" I kept hearing in my mind. "STOP BEING SO LOUD!" I chastised myself. Oh I was so afraid. I didn't want to upset the neighbor.
As I was cooking, my cell phone rang. I looked - it was the landlady.
I felt a punch to my stomach. The fear that ran through me transformed into trembling and terror.
"Do you want me to answer it?" Bill asked.
I nodded, wordlessly.
Oh God. Oh God.
Bill talked with her as I added the vegetables with mushrooms and onions to the pan. I was trembling so badly that it felt as if I was shaking both inside and out. Like my blood was rumbling beneath my skin, my bones were shaking, at the same time that my hands and neck and head and my body was shaking. My legs were weak. I wanted to cry.
This is it. This is when she tells me it's not going to work out and we have to leave. Leave this apartment. Move away.
Please...please...please....
As I stirred the vegetables, I heard Bill say, "She's right here, she's cooking actually," and I thought, "Oh no! She wants to talk to me!"
Bill held the phone down. "She wants to talk to you about plowing."
(We have a long driveway that is shared by the neighboring house and usually the cost of plowing of the driveway is split three ways between that neighbor, and me and the neighbor I share the duplex with).
I spoke with the landlady. My voice was shaky. I tried to control it. It was a lot like holding your breath as long as you possibly can. I was holding my breath. Waiting to hear of a complaint the neighbor had given.
No such thing was said.
When I hung up the phone, I exhaled - figuratively speaking - and my body seemed to deflate. Bill, thinking ahead, had lit a cigarette and brought it to me. I ran into the dining room with it. "Can't let anyone see!"
I fixed dinner; couldn't eat. Tried.
Drank my milk.
Tried distracting myself with a movie about a Mayan elder (www.shiftoftheages.com) but this did nothing to stop the turbulence inside.
After, I logged Bill into his FB account so he could play a game that I play. There was a message for him. It was from his sister. I had to show Bill how to get to it but everything got confused and maybe I didn't handle it right or explain it clearly enough but he clicked the little red "1" on the messages balloon and I saw the first line of her message - it was clearly some kind of criticism. Without asking, Bill said he didn't want to read it and he went to the end of the pop up and clicked "See all messages" and when he did that, I saw a (presumably) old message from Gary - unread. Saw his face.
Bill threw his hands up. "Get me out of here," he said as he leaned back against the couch.
I felt I'd done something(s) wrong...again.
We went to bed. I laid down and was overwhelmed - "flooded" as Michelle calls it - and my mind would not stop chattering. I became afraid and I didn't know what I was afraid of. I started to cry. I didn't know why I was crying. I tried talking to myself within my mind and there was nothing but chaos, confusion. Pictures, images, flashes, memories. Gary, Daddy, the neighbor, homelessness, bills, "Dee", Trevor....so much...too much. I couldn't quiet my mind and I just surrendered. I felt I was being battered from inside my skull.
I sat up and took two klonopin, smoked half a cigarette, laid back down. Bill cautiously asked if he could lie close to me. "Yes," I said.
He moved closer and put his arms around me, and I cried. He kept telling me, "It's okay. I'm here. I've gotcha. You're safe." And I just cried some more, feeling foolish. Kept trying to breathe, kept counting my breaths, trying to focus on anything but the noise in my head.
It sucks to live every day in fear.
I have PTSD and DID but I am not defined by them. Rather, I am temporarily impeded by them as I walk through this painful journey of self-discovery and introspection; memory-recall; re-learning; therapy and guidance.
The biggest inhibitor of these disorders, for me, is the unpredictable nature of them. For example, the other night during a Christmas gathering, someone mentioned a single word and once the word was spoken, flashes of my father - my first and most brutal abuser - began flickering in my mind, like those old-time reels of film. Click-click-click-click, as I felt warmth spread through my body. But because of where we were and because we were so surrounded by people, some "part" of me, held me together and I breathed through the moment.
Strange things cause these outbursts, whether expressed or internalized. When internalized, it feels like a pressure cooker; When externalized, it's like the lid has blown off the pressure cooker.
Occasionally, the lid is gently removed, to let off some of the steam and during those times, there is a moment of relief, immediately followed by (sometimes days of) regret, fear and intimidation. "Oh God I've said too much...I've revealed too much."
White vans; the scent of Vanilla; burgundy vans; holidays; the way someone holds their cigarette; certain words/phrases; smells; telephones; vehicles; certain styles of a moustache; guitars; playgrounds; strangers; some Latinos; grocery shopping....
These and other things set me off and I don't even know it.
Bill unwittingly sent me spiraling into panic one night when he said, "If you're too hot, you can turn the heater down," as we were in the car. I was immediately thrown back into the cab of a truck where - countless times - I was raped and/or beaten as a child.
This was following a phone call from my therapist, which followed a troubling trip to the grocery store. It piled up until finally I was shaking and scrambling for a Risperdal in my purse, dropping my cigarette, discombobulated and all I could do was keep telling myself, "It's okay - it's Bill. It's okay - It's Bill..."
I don't like phones or phone calls and I never (or rarely) answer any phone call that shows an unknown number.
I know where this comes from, but that's another story.
Friday night, Bill and I were up until past 5 a.m. just sitting at the dining room table, talking and having drinks. It was nice. We played spades (he won) and we talked about all manner of things - which we often do. We are good together in that way. We've always had great conversations.
I lit several incense. I love the incense, plus I got a bunch of new incense and burners for Christmas. I was so tickled.
I received a text as we were heading to bed from our neighbor. "Could you guys please chill out with the smoke/incense? It's going through the walls. Thanks."
I panicked.
I felt horrible. I apologized profusely. I heard nothing back.
That was Friday.
Saturday I awoke still semi-panicked. Afraid to do anything. Very jumpy - constantly on Trevor to be quiet, stop talking so loud, stop slamming doors, stop this, stop that. I, once again, hid inside - away from the windows. Time came to cook dinner...
I was slicing the zucchini and squash and it seemed like every time the knife slid through the vegetable and hit the cutting board, a bomb was going off. "Be quiet!" I kept hearing in my mind. "STOP BEING SO LOUD!" I chastised myself. Oh I was so afraid. I didn't want to upset the neighbor.
As I was cooking, my cell phone rang. I looked - it was the landlady.
I felt a punch to my stomach. The fear that ran through me transformed into trembling and terror.
"Do you want me to answer it?" Bill asked.
I nodded, wordlessly.
Oh God. Oh God.
Bill talked with her as I added the vegetables with mushrooms and onions to the pan. I was trembling so badly that it felt as if I was shaking both inside and out. Like my blood was rumbling beneath my skin, my bones were shaking, at the same time that my hands and neck and head and my body was shaking. My legs were weak. I wanted to cry.
This is it. This is when she tells me it's not going to work out and we have to leave. Leave this apartment. Move away.
Please...please...please....
As I stirred the vegetables, I heard Bill say, "She's right here, she's cooking actually," and I thought, "Oh no! She wants to talk to me!"
Bill held the phone down. "She wants to talk to you about plowing."
(We have a long driveway that is shared by the neighboring house and usually the cost of plowing of the driveway is split three ways between that neighbor, and me and the neighbor I share the duplex with).
I spoke with the landlady. My voice was shaky. I tried to control it. It was a lot like holding your breath as long as you possibly can. I was holding my breath. Waiting to hear of a complaint the neighbor had given.
No such thing was said.
When I hung up the phone, I exhaled - figuratively speaking - and my body seemed to deflate. Bill, thinking ahead, had lit a cigarette and brought it to me. I ran into the dining room with it. "Can't let anyone see!"
I fixed dinner; couldn't eat. Tried.
Drank my milk.
Tried distracting myself with a movie about a Mayan elder (www.shiftoftheages.com) but this did nothing to stop the turbulence inside.
After, I logged Bill into his FB account so he could play a game that I play. There was a message for him. It was from his sister. I had to show Bill how to get to it but everything got confused and maybe I didn't handle it right or explain it clearly enough but he clicked the little red "1" on the messages balloon and I saw the first line of her message - it was clearly some kind of criticism. Without asking, Bill said he didn't want to read it and he went to the end of the pop up and clicked "See all messages" and when he did that, I saw a (presumably) old message from Gary - unread. Saw his face.
Bill threw his hands up. "Get me out of here," he said as he leaned back against the couch.
I felt I'd done something(s) wrong...again.
We went to bed. I laid down and was overwhelmed - "flooded" as Michelle calls it - and my mind would not stop chattering. I became afraid and I didn't know what I was afraid of. I started to cry. I didn't know why I was crying. I tried talking to myself within my mind and there was nothing but chaos, confusion. Pictures, images, flashes, memories. Gary, Daddy, the neighbor, homelessness, bills, "Dee", Trevor....so much...too much. I couldn't quiet my mind and I just surrendered. I felt I was being battered from inside my skull.
I sat up and took two klonopin, smoked half a cigarette, laid back down. Bill cautiously asked if he could lie close to me. "Yes," I said.
He moved closer and put his arms around me, and I cried. He kept telling me, "It's okay. I'm here. I've gotcha. You're safe." And I just cried some more, feeling foolish. Kept trying to breathe, kept counting my breaths, trying to focus on anything but the noise in my head.
It sucks to live every day in fear.
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