Anger is an emotion I struggle with expressing. Usually I turn it inward. Or direct it toward a safe person (usually my husband). That is a pattern I am trying to change. I'm trying to learn to express anger in a "healthy" fashion, although I really have no idea what "healthy anger" looks like. For me, anything that doesn't involve injuring myself, is probably healthy at this stage. Right now, expressing anger involves a lot of foul words and not a whole lot of making sense (for those with sensitive ears, that is your warning). I also tend to argue with myself when I get angry, and the rationalization makes me even madder.
"Rational Self" made me go to the doctor today to follow up on my med levels and talk about my sleeping problems. I left frustrated, and with a prescription for Ambien. My trileptal levels are good. We talked about how I was doing. He asked how long I'd been feeling pretty good and I told him about 1 month (I've been on the trileptal 2 months now). Doc says the minimum time to be on the meds is 4-6 months and he'd like to see me go the six month range given that this is my second round on anti-depressants. Damn it. That means putting of trying for baby #2 another 3-5 months. Shit.
Rational Self recognizes this is the right thing to do. I need to be in a good place mentally before I try to add any more stress to my life. I know the doctor is right - I've only been "stable" for one month really. And the doctor doesn't even know about the cutting (oops?!) so I'm sure if he knew that, he'd really want me on the meds for the longer time period.
When I agreed to try this trileptal medicine, I was desperate for the panic to end. I told both my T and my doctor that I'd do it for three months. No one told me that trying it for "only" three months was not an option. I know I needed to do this - to get on these medicines. And I might not have been willing to start on them if I knew how long of a process this would be. So maybe my not knowing was a good thing. On the other hand, I hate not knowing. I want to know all the details up front so I can make a decision for myself. I know in my head that it was the right thing to do this, but damnit, I didn't want to commit to this long.
I went in today wanting some sleep meds and wanting to get the protocol for weaning off these meds. Had it all planned in my head of course. Start weaning next month after beach trip. Pregnant by end of year. Put of partnership 1 more year because of baby. Partner in 2009 after numbers are back up. On the track again after a slight detour. My best laid plans interrupted by a FREAKIN HUGE SPEED BUMP. Actually forget that -- I think my (crazy) train got totally derailed. The doctor wouldn't even give me the protocol for weaning off. Told me not to do it on my own or go cold turkey. Said we'd discuss it in Sept when I came back for another blood level. Damn doctor knows me too well and knows I'd start the weaning process on my own if I knew how.
I talked to my husband and asked him how he felt about the delay in baby #2. He's so unemotional. Says, "well I expected it" and "I'm not disappointed." What the hell? I'm disappointed. I tell him this and he gives me the "our time will come" and "we'll get there" and "time will go by quickly" and the worst "it's for the best." Who's best? Not mine. I know all the rational argument shit. I do not want to hear it. Not right now. I just am, want to be, need to be, MAD right now.
Damnittoallhell, these same issues keep re-surfacing. Why can't they just die already? I really don't like my body. I'm not talking about disliking my nose or hips or anything like that (although I really do not like those parts). It's more of an intense dislike of the physical body. My body betrayed me. During the abuse, it responded in ways I did not want it too. It dissociated. It just didn't do like I wanted. And now, again, it's not acting like it should. All these panic attacks and anxiety. Damn it, haven't I suffered enough? Why can't the abuse be enough? Why all this after-effect shit? I'm tired of it. I want my body to quit all this crap. Knock it off already.
The abuse has "stolen" so much of my childhood. And now it's consumed 18 months (that I'll admit to anyway) of my adult life as I've dealt with all this crap. I have accepted (albeit reluctantly) that fact. So why the hell do I have to keep letting it take more and more and more? I want my life back. I want my body back. In a new and improved format of course. Haven't I suffered enough? Isn't there some switch to be thrown or a button to be pushed that goes "presto chango - all done?" I want to be pregnant and happy and secure in my job. Content with life - enjoying life. Not fighting my way through every freakin second just to stay sane and on track and not carve up my own self. What the hell is wrong with me anyway?
I want to give up. Go up to whoever the hell is in charge of this game and say "You win - I give up. I can't fight any more." I feel like my abuser is sitting up on some pedestal saying "I win." I know rationally that isn't true. Frankly, he probably could care less about me at this point. But I'm so pissed that I've had to spend all this time and energy dealing with this abuse crap that he foisted one me. Damn him. A part of me says God is in charge and "giving up" is what I'm "supposed" to do. I don't know though - if that is true, then why can't this just be over already? Hello? God? Hello? I am tired of this. Haven't I suffered enough already? Can it be over already?
(Dammit Lynn, I need to borrow your shotgun - there are some issues and habits I want to blast)