Monday 2nd May
A lot has happened since last I wrote. I have met with a new doctor after I changed my surgery. I went to Brunston and asked for a medication review since my anti-depressants obviously aren't doing their job. They basically said they would not change my medication while I was seeing a psychiatrist. No matter how many times I told them I was seeing a psychological therapist and she can not do my medication they just would not listen to me. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid, so I changed surgeries met Dr L. Even though he was a man, he listened, I mean really listened. I was able to tell him everything I was feeling. About feeling suicidal one minute and in a rage the next, and being disconnected from the world. He sent me to see an actual psychiatrist, a doctor P. Again a man, but he too listened to my story, in a basic form only, while he drew a family tree so he could try to make sense of it all. His reply to all of this "What is wrong with these people?!" I've asked myself that question all my life and never got an answer. He thinks I may have Emotional Unstable Personality Disorder, and also Post traumatic stress disorder from all the years of abuse. He gave me some new meds in addition to the fluxotine, called Quetiapin. I am feeling a lot better. I still feel down now and then but not so suicidal, I still feel angry just not in a red rage. Who knows, maybe after all these years I may finally begin to feel like me again, whatever that feels like.
I have also been doing a lot of serious thinking these last couple of days, hence the writing. I think maybe it was me all along. I was the one making myself ill. I was living in the past, letting it control me. The past was making me who I was because instead of letting it define me, I was letting it rule me. I can't see who I should be if I hold on to what could have been. I have to let go. I have to let it go, it's almost as if it's been a part of my life for so long, I don't know how to be anyone else. I raised my daughters never to be anyone's victim, while remaining a victim myself. I have been carrying around such a burden of guilt and regret it's been crushing me. And not just my childhood, but my whole past. Raising the girls through turmoil, hate, lies and I stayed with R through it all, his anger, his rage towards me and towards the girls when they were so young. And yes, I stopped it, I made him see and understand what he was doing wrong, and how to fix it. The way we were raised by our parents was so very wrong. I helped him become the man he is today because I wouldn't give up on him, because I could see who he could be. There are some places I could not change, he will always be lazy, he will always be cruel with his words when he doesn't realize, or understand how or why his words hurt. But he is different to who he was then. I am different to who I was then. I was an abused child who thought pain and suffering are a part of life, and they are, but that is not all there is. I carried around guilt for not protecting them when they were babies, from him, his family, my family. I felt guilt for not protecting J and C and Dad from P, from Ro and from D and S. But I had forgotten several important things. Free will. Yes I made mistakes, but so did everyone else and they did it all of their own free will. Dad married P, he stayed with her even though he knew she would never change, Ro stayed with D, even after he broke her jaw. even after he broke her daughter's nose, even after he left me bruised and battered on the bed from his beatings, and she did it all of her own free will. I look back now and I think the worst thing they all did to me, was to make me believe it was all my own fault, every last bit of it. even my Mother being a slut. But they did it in such a way I didn't even know I was doing it, and carried on doing it all my life. I remember the pain, and I feel terrible self loathing and the voices tell me I am to blame, it is all my fault, me, the stupid, fat, ugly, selfish, spiteful, weak, pitiful me. For so long I heard those voices in my head, but there is a new one now. I don't know how or why my thought pattern changed, or why there is a new voice and it's strong. Not strong like Lisa was out of hate, anger and pain and cruelty. But out of something different. And I see things a different way, a new way. I see things now that I was so blind to see before. I am so tired right now. It is still a daily struggle and I have so much more to say, but my eyes are closing and the rest of me is following, even if my brain refuses to close down, no matter how tired my body gets, it still goes on and..... (a line is drawn across the page)
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