We called our T about half an hour ago. She was unable to talk then because she was at somebody else's house. It seems strange to think of her being in the company of other people on a Saturday night, especially since she's in her late 70s and has said that she's content when she's alone. But we digress.
It's been a horrible week. Aside from everything else we've been dealing with, we started having hot flashes again. Often. Mind you, we completed menopause three and a half years ago. Our T says that the hot flashes never stop completely, but we wish they'd not show up with such a vengeance.
No doubt the hormones, our natural serotonin imbalance, and our unavoidable trauma issues all operate in a vicious cycle. But we still feel worse than we've ever felt, if that's possible. Pessimist's mantra: Things Can Always Get Worse.
We googled emotional regulation. We googled containment. We're not ready to deal with abstract concepts. When we're in the midst of a severe emotional crisis, no matter how prolonged, the last thing we want to hear is someone telling us to change our thoughts.
In making the rounds of familiar MH websites, we came upon discussions about darks. How to help them into the light. We don't have RA, but we definitely have darks. We've always hesitated to identify them as such, for fear of offending those who do have an RA history. But our darks are still our darks, even though they have a different kind of past.
***TW***
arianna is 2.5. She's having fantasies of doing things to our mother that we won't even attempt to describe. arianna feels intense pain and wants to return it to an infinite degree. She's shredded the superhero costume that she'd accepted from us with such enthusiasm. She turns back and forth from a little girl to a dangerous wild tiger, and back again.
***END TW***
We've spent much of this week in bed, doing our best to shut down completely. We feel an intense loneliness. But we can't push ourselves to do much of anything.
We feel like our life is ruined, and that we'll never be able to get rid of the pain. The pain makes us think of that 1970s song "Killing Me Softly." Except our pain is loud, pulling us to the precipice and taunting us with the edge, nonstop.
Back to darks. I/Charity used to think that I was the source of light and comfort in our system. I've written many times about my complex efforts at denial and delusion, so I won't do so now. I feel darker and darker as time goes by. I cannot remove myself from my place in the center of our system. When I refuse to function, the system refuses to function.
I hate our life.
Charity and others