Showing posts with label writing as therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing as therapy. Show all posts

Monday, March 17, 2014

Writing as therapy: Fear and judgement

I have writer's block. Again. This block is a big one with the label "FEAR" etched across it. And so I find myself again blogging about my fear of blogging.

Makes for boring reading, no?

It's not like I don't have anything to say. I've got a list of blog titles and even folders of photos to accompany some of them, but actually sitting here and writing it up seems like such a chore.

I don't think I'm consciously worried about stats. In fact my unique monthly hits are higher than they ever have been, despite my slow blogging. And I'm pretty sure there's not too many of you (if any) out there hanging out for my next post. But I still feel that I should  be getting my words out ("Use your words, Vanessa"). For me. For my son. Maybe. I don't know why.

I'm going through a really blah period of my life. I have no real passion for anything. Of course, my five year old is everything to me, and my love and excitement for Noo will never cease. But the rest of life? Blah.

Boredom makes me hyper-aware of all that ails me - my knee which needs surgery later this year, my coccyx which is arthritic and worn thanks to that fateful night way back in 2007, constant constipation thanks to psych medication that I just can't survive without, headaches, anxiety about money, weight woes, loneliness...

Truth be told, I probably have too much time on my hands. I know what I want/need to do but as always fear holds me back.

Once again I fear the possible repercussions of my writing. Someone dear to me (who shall remain nameless) said by putting our (and by "our" I mean bloggers, Twitterers, Facebookers, celebrities, anyone on social media or in the public eye) life online we open ourselves up and invite criticism and judgement. That basically if you get bullied for what you've disclosed online, you kind of deserve it, because if you didn't expose yourself to the world you wouldn't have gotten bullied in the first place.

Personally, I call bullshit. Because it's kind of the same as saying if I didn't go out on Friday 17 April 2007 and get drunk, then I wouldn't have been raped. This theory places the responsibility and blame for the crime on me, the victim, rather than on he/she  the rapist/bully.

I have never been trolled online which I'm so grateful for. I've read what some people say about some bloggers and it fills me with dread that anyone could possibly dissect my life like that. But I don't think those trolls or forums which facilitate them should be banned. I regard freedom of speech as one of the most important values in our society. Banning such sites would do more harm than good as a whole. But, what I don't understand, is how anyone could even think of those things to say about people, let alone publish them publicly in order to ridicule them.

A lot of what I've published here has taken a huge amount of courage and a massive chunk of my heart and soul has gone into putting the words together. I told the story about my past problems with drugs and alcohol, about being raped, about my endless struggles with mental illness because I want to help people. I want others who may be in a similar situation know they are not alone.

But I'm not just fearful of what I blog about, I'm scared about what people in the real world might say/think about me if they got to know me. I avoid social situations. I fear the question "So, what do you do?".

I don't know what the fuck I do. I survive each day. Is that not enough?

I stand by my belief that the only way to kill stigma is to talk about the things that some sections of society try to shame us about. For some reason I feel I need to reaffirm this belief to myself, and to you, so I can keep writing. Hiding in the shadows is only going to feed the fear. Standing up and declaring who I am and owning it should surely make me stronger.

So here I am:

Hello my name is Vanessa and

    I am a recovering alcoholic and drug addict

      I suffer from have PTSD, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder and ADHD

        I take various psychiatric medications

            I have a lap-band and weigh about 92 kg

               I have been a victim of violent crime on three separate occasions in my life

                     I'm a single parent

                          I don't have a job


Fear and judgement can kiss my arse


I'm sick of living a fearful life.

The truth of it is, the only troll in my life is me. I am my own worst enemy and most critical judge.

Build a bridge, Vanessa, and get over it. Fear can kiss your arse!


V.










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Saturday, April 27, 2013

Writing as therapy: When the self saboteur comes visiting

Writing as therapy


This is going to be one of those posts that I whine about my failures. Particularly my bloody weight issues. It takes up so much of my headspace that this blog would be a lie if I didn't write about it here. And anyway, when I asked Shrink for his advice on how to get back on the diet bandwagon he said "blog about it".


The self saboteur has come again


Chocolate is my drug of choice these days and I am in full blown active addiction. Again.

I've gained back all 5kg I lost last year and I'm not liking it at all. Yet my self saboteur grabs another Malteaser and shoves it in my gob, the smooth chocolate coating combined with the perfectly crunchy centre soothes me, if only for a second.

Chocolate, cake, ice cream, lollies and lots of them. I'm even drinking more Diet Coke than I usually allow myself because my self saboteur says I can. She plays with the fact that I have absolutely no self control of my addictions especially when I've been rejected, criticised, blamed or judged poorly.

Last year when I quit sugar and did Droptober I felt so determined and full of motivation to lose weight and get healthy. I felt light, my moods were more stable, my headaches were gone, I slept better and woke up better. I felt clean and I even felt like I actually loved my body. It was such a sweet lovely feeling. And my self saboteur was nowhere to be seen!

That's all gone now. I feel heavy and toxic. My headaches are back and my joints ache. I'm back in my fat clothes and I certainly do not heart my body. I feel old. My self saboteur is back and she encourages me to consume yet another bowl of ice cream and chocolate sauce. It will make you feel better, she says. Who cares if you get fat, she insists, this tastes too good to give a shit. You've suffered and you deserve a reward. My self saboteur is very convincing.

I've put it out on my Facebook feed, and on this blog, so many times that I'm back on the wagon, this time will be it, blah, blah, blah. Then I get a little set back and she's back! She can smell my fears and sensitivities from a mile away!

Last night I put this tweet out there...


...and got this response


I wish it were that easy!

I hate myself when my self saboteur shows up but I feel completely powerless by her control over me. I am simply unable to sacrifice "short term gratification for the sake of long term goals" to quote my schema therapy book (which I highly recommend but should note I've also had extensive experience with group and one on one schema therapy). This is especially the case when I'm not feeling great about something.

You see I have the insufficient self control/self discipline schema (or as I call it my self saboteur). This is a basic summary:

"Insufficient Self-Control/Self-Discipline
This schema refers to the inability to tolerate any frustration in reaching one’s goals, as well as an inability to restrain expression of one’s impulses or feelings. When lack of self-control is extreme, criminal or addictive behavior rule your life. Parents who did not model self-control, or who did not adequately discipline their children, may predispose them to have this schema as adults."
- A Client’s Guide to Schema Therapy

I don't have tantrums any more (although I did up until about four years ago) but I'm impulsive. I always have been. I do things without thinking about the consequences, much like a toddler does. Although I know the consequences, I just choose to block them out during that moment of frustration or upset. Couple insufficient self control with my defectiveness schema and I'm the perfect candidate for addiction because I use the vice (in the past drugs and alcohol and now sugar) to overcome or avoid those feelings of defectiveness. It is a self defeating prophecy because by constantly failing to stem the impulsivity, and tell that bitch the self saboteur to fuck off, I'm just fueling the defectiveness. It is a vicious circle I've been playing in all my life.

"Defectiveness/Shame 
This schema refers to the belief that one is internally flawed, and that, if others get close, they will realize this and withdraw from the relationship. This feeling of being flawed and inadequate often leads to a strong sense of shame. Generally parents were very critical of their children and made them feel as if they were not worthy of being loved."
A Client’s Guide to Schema Therapy

I want to find that golden moment again where I make the decision to tell my self saboteur to go to hell, and flick that magic switch in my brain that turns me back into the person I love: Motivated, pumped, committed. I want to hold onto that chick forever but I never do.

I told you all a little while ago that I was seeing a guy that I really liked. I put the hard word on him and I waited for a response. And I waited. The prick kept me waiting, giving me little life lines along the way but never having the balls to come straight out and say what he needed to say. When it became clear that it was over I just ate more chocolate. My self saboteur sniffed rejection and said fuck it, what is the point in being slim if a man doesn't want you, you might as well alone and fat forever.

I've come to the realisation that my diet is related to whether or not I'm dating. I lose weight, feel good, start dating, meet someone, get complacent because the relationship isn't right, put on weight, the relationship is over, mourn with chocolate, want to start dating again, lose weight...


Yes, I am a geek that keeps a record of my weight in an Excel spreadsheet and have done so for 10 years!


My whole sense of self worth must be centred around whether or not a man could love me. My defective self thinks I am unlovable if I am overweight so my self saboteur swoops in to provide evidence of that fact. Are you with me?

It has been a month since I sent him that text asking him where our three months of dating was heading. I've gained 2.5kg in the last four weeks and 2kg in the month before (which I can attribute to my attempt to return to office work).

I don't want to blame that dick-face for my weight gain. Or my anxiety about work and my subsequent mood slide. I need to take responsibility for my own health. I just hate that when I feel like shit (defectiveness schema) I do my utmost to make myself feel shittier in the guise of trying to make myself feel better (insufficient self control schema).

I guess it is lucky I have a psych appointment this week to work this shit through.

If you made it this far through this "writing as therapy" session, thank you.



What are your coping mechanisms? Go for a nice long walk? Meditate? Or shove your gob full of chocolate cake like me?



V.




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Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Writing as therapy

Wow! What an intense week it has been here at babblingbandit.me. I'm so overwhelmed by the supportive comments about my last three posts and thank all of you who have left these words for me. Writing about this time has been a really interesting and therapeutic exercise and your support has made it all the more worthwhile.

If you missed the first three posts of On being a victim of rape culture check them out here:

Part 1: The day before
Part 2: Where am I?
Part 3: The day after



Me and my beautiful boy almost
six years to the day later


The last session I had with my psychiatrist was about a month ago. In that session I had to discuss with him the freakout I had when I attempted to go back to work in an office. Rather than tell him verbally how I felt about the whole thing I gave him a printout of this blog post. Easy!

From now on, whenever I need to see a new mental health professional, I think I'll just hand them one of my babblingbandit.me business cards and say "analyse this!". My backstory is nearly all here and I find it easier to express myself in the written word than in person. The ADHD in me likes to chop and change around the story all the time which makes it difficult for anyone listening to follow.

There is something incredibly cathartic about organising past events and the emotions around them into words, sentences and paragraphs. I've re-read the last three posts so many times I can almost recite them verbatim. Something has happened to me during this process. I could almost be letting go of it. The pain I mean.

Until very recently I haven't even been able to say the 'R' word. Just saying it made me feel so uncomfortable, nauseous actually. Whenever I talk about what happened to my family or friends I refer to it as 'The Assault'. I guess it deserves capitalising because it was the one pivotal event that changed the my course of my adult life.

You might think I'm fucked up in saying this but I don't regret it happening. It was horrible, it nearly killed me, but I survived. My life was fucked up and heading towards Rock Bottom anyway. I had been trying for six months previous to get clean but nothing was getting through. Not that I was getting the right support (more on that later) but I was trying. At least I had taken the first step to recovery: I had acknowledged to myself and three other people that I was in active drug and alcohol addiction.

Something major had to happen to get me out of the toxic waste dump of a life I was living. The way I rationalise it is even though this path lead to the complete deconstruction of my soul, it gave me an opportunity to rebuild and it led me to Noo, my beautiful boy.

While I still have my many demons and my battles with mental illness continue, my life is a million times better than it was before The Assault.

Do I thank the person for doing what he did to me? Absolutely not. But I guess I forgive him. Hating him like I did for so long, just hurts me which hurts Noo.

I've had enough of hurt.

The next part of the story will continue with the 13 hours I spent with the Metropolitan Police. That was almost as bad as the Assault itself.

To be continued...


Do you write for therapy?


V.














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