The White Board

I did something yesterday and I am not sure where I stand with it. So there was this weird moment in session in regards to my injury. Although I knew I had to talk about hurting myself, I really didn't want to. You see, to me, it was done and over with, so why kick the dead horse. Hmm, now that I think about it, maybe I should have told Chris that. I'll file that thought. Anyways, I don't know why it bothered me to talk about it, we always end up talking about it. Maybe it was just some of the different circumstances that were added in on my side, who knows. Yet, I digress. In that conversation, it just didn't go real well and it all kind of just got tossed to the side. 

Now, generally, I would just let this go. See, this is how I work. Even if I have additional questions - whether I don't fully understand something, or want to talk about something more, or such, once session is over, I am done with it. It is not very often I say much more about it. As in the previous post, those items are put in a box and shoved in the locker. I think I can name a few reasons why I don't follow up and none of them have anything to do with Chris. 

Yesterday, I didn't do that. I emailed to clarify. Then I emailed to the reply to clarify more. Now, I did get the answer I was looking for, and I also had a lot of "WTF are you doing Blewy" going through my head. I don't know if I will do that again. I don't ever want someone else to feel like they didn't explain something good enough, or think that I am being a pain.

In the end, what was trying to be said in the conversation - I think I have this correct now - was trying to get to a place to have the "white board" talk. And if that was not where we were going, well, that is where I am going to leave it because I'm not digging any further. The technical name is called a Chain Analysis, and I call it the white board because that is how it usually happens with us, 

Chris grabs the white board and draws some connecting type picture - stairs, circles, a chain, etc. The end is the harm, the beginning is "was ok" and then you start your way through it identifying triggers that happened along the way and the degree of distress at each point. Then you talk about what could have been done at each point to keep things from going further. And, what can you do next time. 

My problem is that I ask for help, and I ask too late. I ask for help, and I ask the wrong people. I ask for help, and I ask the wrong way. 

So, let's see, do we go from the beginning or the end. Maybe we just throw things out there. So we know the last step - or we can just say last day, Thursday. I saw Mel that morning, the first of my therapy family I had seen since I had been back. It wasn't starting well, conversation with mom included some comments in regards to my eating habits that were upsetting. I had already been purging 3 of the previous 4 days each evening. I was not eating lunch. There was an "out of control" feeling and the eating disorder was trying to compensate. I knew it and I knew not eating and the throwing up at least beat hurting myself. 

I know, seems odd that I put it that way, as I guess that kind of behavior is hurting myself, and I have yet to put the two in such a parallel. It was a tough session, and we made it with me making some promises. I bought lunch, I explained to Ann that I was struggling and needed a buddy, I ate it, we had some moments which Ann got me to laugh to get through it. I struggled with wanting to purge and checked in with Mel a lot through the day. 

Shauna checked in with me during the afternoon, I shared with her that I was struggling with lunch and the ED, yet I was doing well with it. I shared with her that I was headed home to take the car to mom and having unwanted stress and anxiety at that moment. She asked how she could help, I told her I'd be ok. She reminded me she was always there for me and she loved me. I shared that I just wanted to go home and go to bed, yet I knew that wasn't going to happen for a while, I would just take a deep breath and out on my happy face. 

I returned the car, we went to dinner, mom dropped me back off at home, and it was somewhere around 7. At this point I felt so overloaded in my mind. I had said previously to Shauna that I just wish I could talk to one of my therapists, that I just needed to talk and get things sorted and settled (I think that is when she told me I don't get to leave so early next year). I'll skip "how" I felt, there are plenty of past blog posts through these past many years that explain what it is like. I decided on bed. Took my meds and added some muscle relaxers in hopes of just knocking me out. Cocktailing the meds had been working for several days off and on since I had been back in order to fall asleep and quiet my mind. Crawled under the covers, curled up, and hoped to fall asleep. 

Generally, that's it. Within 20 minutes, I'm out like a light. No go. Another hour. Another hour. I called Chris' cell, listened to her voice, left a message. I sent an email. Then I laid there. On my back, arms over my head, wishing to sleep, and awake. From the corner of my eye, knowing how easy it would be to hit the wall, and yet not doing it. Too many thoughts. Too many emotions. And then I crossed over that threshold, my mind went, "I wonder" and the world around me just disappeared.

With my arms still above my head, I took one hand and with my nail, started digging it into my arm as hard as I could. It didn't hurt. If that didn't hurt, I'd dig it a little more, then I'd try ripping, and so forth. I couldn't get pain. I could feel damage being done, and I couldn't feel pain. I remember not liking the fact I couldn't feel pain and so I rolled over and flipped on the light to see if I was even doing anything, to which I was. There sat a pair of those cheap sewing kit scissors that really don't cut anything but thread. I flipped them open and used them instead of my nail. That worked. Although there was still no pain, there was a connection between the forceful action and the emotional pain. Then I just stopped. I laid back, feeling horrible, picked up my phone, and texted Shauna.

It was one of those happened quickly and done and quick as it happened. Shauna and I would text for quite a while, I would fall asleep, and then wake up the next day feeling like a huge weight had been lifted. 

And that was just the last day. Now, did I just go from zero to extreme and didn't ask for help or share my emotional state along the way? No. I was putting messages out every day how I was doing and that I was struggling and that things were not going so well. Yet, I seem to tell the right people at the wrong times, or not use my words right, or because I am not sure of how someone can help me, I just don't ask at all. And, you know what, I'm not going to lie here, When it gets scary and I need someone to help, I so often hear my old doc saying, "If you aren't going to help yourself, then there is nothing I can do to help you." The truth is, I don't want to take a chance on hearing that from someone again so I just try to fix things, or ride them out myself. 

So yah, the white board. I fail it every time.