One of the skills taught as part of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy is learning to accept uncomfortable feelings.
The hardest, and first, part of this for me was learning to recognize and name my feelings. I had to learn what a feeling is and what it is not. What I first was told was that there are six basic feelings: happy, sad, mad, hurt, fear and shame/guilt. I used to have to actually stop and take up to 30 minutes running through the names of the feelings until I could identify what I felt, then name it and then put an intensity to it (1=low and 10=high) and then find a name for that feeling at that intensity.
It got to the point where I tried to write names for each of the ten intensities for each of the six emotions. One, I never finished it, and Two, my lists never matched what my therapist thought the intensities were. I'd think one emotion name meant a 9, and my therapist would tell me most people consider that name meant, like, a 3 or something. I took that to mean that I really didn't understand either my emotions or other people's emotions.
I worked on this and improved immensely and quickly. Not.
I still have trouble recognizing my feelings. I used to be better, but the divorce really messed me up. I don't even know when I have emotions. I can't predict what my emotions will be as a result of what my plans are; and I have some incredible plans right now.
I plan to get a recumbent trike, fix the house, sell it, see Dan and Jen move, store my stuff, get a new car and travel with the trike around the country in the car. How will I like it? Will it be enjoyable? Will I feel separated from life or connected to everyone?
But that's not the issue. The issue is learning to accept uncom-fortable feelings. Not to reject them; not to deny them; not to avoid them; not to anesthetize them; not to fear them; etc.; but to feel them.
I'm having trouble writing this. More later. Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Friday, November 1, 2013
BPD: Fundamentally Flaw(less)
One way the Mayo Clinic described having Borderline Personality Disorder is that you feel fundamentally flawed. I felt such a oneness with this feeling that I chose to write about it first.
If you haven't read my earlier posts (and it's not a requirement) my trauma began (in my remembrance) at about 14 months. I won't go into many details, but let me say that at around 2 I was backhanded into a drawer pull so hard it left a dent in my skull and I was only semi conscious while the perpetrators wished me dead. I was burned at 3, and set my clothes on fire the next day in an effort to die. My point being, I was told in words and deeds that I was not wanted and brutally hurt.
This left me with a deep, deep feeling of worthlessness and shame at my very existence. I felt guilty for eating, for needing clothes, for wanting attention. I was, through words, works and deeds, led to believe the lie that I was only good for what work I could do and what I could do for men. I felt no other use; but I felt internally that it was not true. Some spark in me always led me to hold a feeling inside that I was more; I was smart, creative, happy, dancing, singing, playing and what was more was that this was the real me. I hid it when I could; was called rebellious when I couldn't.
When I was older, I found out I had a cousin who was born with several holes in his heart. Of course, he was a boy, so he had worth even if he couldn't work. Everyone loved him, he was a kind person. But it started a thought; how could he have worth without being able to work. Could worth be based on something else? I held that question deep inside and dwelt on it whenever I could.
When I was in elementary school, and because of my paternal grandmother, I learned about God. There was someone who created us and we had worth just because we were created. I have tried hard to believe in a fundamental worth of life and have never been able to produce it. But I believe in the concept. We are worthy because we exist. In whatever capacity, incapacity, talent, lack of, looks, not popular looking, etc; we are worthy. Worthy of life; of love; of food; of shelter; of clothes; of kindness; of what everyone is worthy of.
I'm 57. I still work on believing this concept. We are not fundamentally flawed, even if we believe it. If so, we believe a lie. We are fundamentally flawless. Worthy. Worthful.
So, to heck with my BPD mind; and yours. We are not flawed. We are not worthless. I hereby proclaim that from now and to forever, we are fundamentally flawless.
Step one: we are worthy. Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
If you haven't read my earlier posts (and it's not a requirement) my trauma began (in my remembrance) at about 14 months. I won't go into many details, but let me say that at around 2 I was backhanded into a drawer pull so hard it left a dent in my skull and I was only semi conscious while the perpetrators wished me dead. I was burned at 3, and set my clothes on fire the next day in an effort to die. My point being, I was told in words and deeds that I was not wanted and brutally hurt.
This left me with a deep, deep feeling of worthlessness and shame at my very existence. I felt guilty for eating, for needing clothes, for wanting attention. I was, through words, works and deeds, led to believe the lie that I was only good for what work I could do and what I could do for men. I felt no other use; but I felt internally that it was not true. Some spark in me always led me to hold a feeling inside that I was more; I was smart, creative, happy, dancing, singing, playing and what was more was that this was the real me. I hid it when I could; was called rebellious when I couldn't.
When I was older, I found out I had a cousin who was born with several holes in his heart. Of course, he was a boy, so he had worth even if he couldn't work. Everyone loved him, he was a kind person. But it started a thought; how could he have worth without being able to work. Could worth be based on something else? I held that question deep inside and dwelt on it whenever I could.
When I was in elementary school, and because of my paternal grandmother, I learned about God. There was someone who created us and we had worth just because we were created. I have tried hard to believe in a fundamental worth of life and have never been able to produce it. But I believe in the concept. We are worthy because we exist. In whatever capacity, incapacity, talent, lack of, looks, not popular looking, etc; we are worthy. Worthy of life; of love; of food; of shelter; of clothes; of kindness; of what everyone is worthy of.
I'm 57. I still work on believing this concept. We are not fundamentally flawed, even if we believe it. If so, we believe a lie. We are fundamentally flawless. Worthy. Worthful.
So, to heck with my BPD mind; and yours. We are not flawed. We are not worthless. I hereby proclaim that from now and to forever, we are fundamentally flawless.
Step one: we are worthy. Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
DBT, the first of many
One of the several parts of Dialectic Behavioral Theory is the concept of mindfulness. Although, personally, I think this is the most useless of all the parts, it has been, for me, the easiest.
The idea of mindfulness is very similar to a survival trait used by trauma survivors of focusing on one item or a series of items that have nothing to do with the trauma you're experiencing as a way of focusing on something other than the trauma you're experiencing.
In other ways, it is like meditation; focusing on one thing and letting it into your consciousness and body to produce a fulfilling and profound sense of peace inside you and closing yourself off from what is around you (my definition).
In another way, it is like Paul Simon's song "I am a Rock." This is also referred to as building a wall around yourself, or putting on a mask, or living in a bubble, even if only for a brief moment.
I learned through 3 years of Adult Children of Alcoholics to be my real self; to lower the wall; to burst the bubble and let people like me or not like me as I really am. I swore I would never go back in the bubble. That is why this is the one part I think the most useless.
It is also the one part that is the most accessible, and, if done right, doesn't let me fall into any of the early dsyfunctions I taught myself in order to survive.
Here's how it goes: REALLY notice what you are doing/feeling right this very second.
Sounds easy, but it isn't. The example I was trained with was eating an orange. Don't just shove it down and get on with life. Notice the smell, the texture, the feeling of peeling, the color, the juice, the feeling of the juice on the skin and under the nails, the way it runs on the table or catches on a towel. Keep this up until you have finished the orange and cleaned up. Now, look around you. Where were you for the last several minutes? Worrying about what others thought of you; worrying at all? Or engrossed in the orange?
That's one example. Others are: notice all the orange things around you; pay attention to your breathing; unclench and notice your jaw or back muscles or whatever is clenched; notice all the circles; notice a picture or painting; notice background noises. These are just a few of the things that are mindfulness exercises. The idea, as I understand it, is to be aware of the goodnesses in the present moment.
Right now I am typing in my patio room. I notice the white wood walls; the framing of the windows, the orange lettering on the empty baked bean can I could be worrying about recycling, but am not doing so. There is much around me to worry about, but I'm not doing that. I'm noticing. I'm being here. I feel the keyboard and know that it is a gift from the universe. I feel bloated from the second glass of milk I'm having and know that's a goodness many will not know tonight. I see my glasses, my phone, my meds and know these are not worries. These are gifts. I don't always appreciate my gifts, but mindfulness, the exercise of mindfulness, renews my appreciation for what is and calms my worries of what is not.
Today, I have a home. Unpaid bills; a crying grandchild; nonworking children; messes I can't keep up with; broken things that need fixing; dogs that don't get enough attention now; a job I have to work in 15 hours. But enough of that. Today, I have a home. I have a patio. I have white wood walls. I have window frames. I have orange letters and glasses and a phone and a keyboard and milk. I have goodness in my life. Worries, messes, duties, fears; but also goodness. This is mindfulness. This is peace. Peace with today. Peace with this moment. Peace within myself. Sometimes a rare quality. Sometimes amazingly available if I just let myself notice.
Try it. Google it or see your/a therapist for more information. Open yourself to the peace and goodness that is available in this moment.
Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
The idea of mindfulness is very similar to a survival trait used by trauma survivors of focusing on one item or a series of items that have nothing to do with the trauma you're experiencing as a way of focusing on something other than the trauma you're experiencing.
In other ways, it is like meditation; focusing on one thing and letting it into your consciousness and body to produce a fulfilling and profound sense of peace inside you and closing yourself off from what is around you (my definition).
In another way, it is like Paul Simon's song "I am a Rock." This is also referred to as building a wall around yourself, or putting on a mask, or living in a bubble, even if only for a brief moment.
I learned through 3 years of Adult Children of Alcoholics to be my real self; to lower the wall; to burst the bubble and let people like me or not like me as I really am. I swore I would never go back in the bubble. That is why this is the one part I think the most useless.
It is also the one part that is the most accessible, and, if done right, doesn't let me fall into any of the early dsyfunctions I taught myself in order to survive.
Here's how it goes: REALLY notice what you are doing/feeling right this very second.
Sounds easy, but it isn't. The example I was trained with was eating an orange. Don't just shove it down and get on with life. Notice the smell, the texture, the feeling of peeling, the color, the juice, the feeling of the juice on the skin and under the nails, the way it runs on the table or catches on a towel. Keep this up until you have finished the orange and cleaned up. Now, look around you. Where were you for the last several minutes? Worrying about what others thought of you; worrying at all? Or engrossed in the orange?
That's one example. Others are: notice all the orange things around you; pay attention to your breathing; unclench and notice your jaw or back muscles or whatever is clenched; notice all the circles; notice a picture or painting; notice background noises. These are just a few of the things that are mindfulness exercises. The idea, as I understand it, is to be aware of the goodnesses in the present moment.
Right now I am typing in my patio room. I notice the white wood walls; the framing of the windows, the orange lettering on the empty baked bean can I could be worrying about recycling, but am not doing so. There is much around me to worry about, but I'm not doing that. I'm noticing. I'm being here. I feel the keyboard and know that it is a gift from the universe. I feel bloated from the second glass of milk I'm having and know that's a goodness many will not know tonight. I see my glasses, my phone, my meds and know these are not worries. These are gifts. I don't always appreciate my gifts, but mindfulness, the exercise of mindfulness, renews my appreciation for what is and calms my worries of what is not.
Today, I have a home. Unpaid bills; a crying grandchild; nonworking children; messes I can't keep up with; broken things that need fixing; dogs that don't get enough attention now; a job I have to work in 15 hours. But enough of that. Today, I have a home. I have a patio. I have white wood walls. I have window frames. I have orange letters and glasses and a phone and a keyboard and milk. I have goodness in my life. Worries, messes, duties, fears; but also goodness. This is mindfulness. This is peace. Peace with today. Peace with this moment. Peace within myself. Sometimes a rare quality. Sometimes amazingly available if I just let myself notice.
Try it. Google it or see your/a therapist for more information. Open yourself to the peace and goodness that is available in this moment.
Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
Lost in the Maze
Was reading up about Dialectical Behavioral Training and realized my BPD tweets are not for bi-polar, but Borderline Personality Disorder. So I googled Borderline Personality Disorder.
Folks, I'm trashed. Been trashed since 14 months. This stuff messes up your life and just gets worse. Now I know why I have no friends, I don't really care about anyone, I react quickly and erractically, etc. It's not the PTSD, tho that's there. It's the BPD.
I'm am losing hope. Don't mean to be morbid, but like I read, this stuff doesn't get better. You can learn DBT, but it's like putting my mask back on, putting my wall up and getting back in my bubble. I swore I'd never do that again and I won't. I'd rather live alone as me than have fake friends for a fake person. I taught myself a lot of the DBT stuff as a child and made it up. I spent 12 years on a bus to and from school and no one ever spoke to me. EVER. Twelve years of being ostracized and learning avoidance. I see it now as a form of bullying. "Be like us or be avoided."
I'm now 57. My kids are grown. My 18 yr old will graduate next June. My 21 yr old has a girlfriend and a baby and maybe a job in a week that he'll like and keep. He wants to start his own household. I've been waiting for this moment for 2 yrs. My 18 yr old knows what she wants to do and how to do it. I'm in my empty nest and boy is it ever empty; especially after the divorce finalized yesterday.
So what do I do now that I believe it will just get worse and the research backs it up? First, I'm buying a recumbent trike. Then I'm doing a little fix up on the house and selling it. Then I'm going to travel around the US in my car with my trike.
Then what? I'm not sure. Maybe I'll come back to Texas. Maybe I'll find somewhere I like better (Kentucky? Tennessee? Mountains, woodlands, rivers?) Maybe I'll end it all. Suicide is a common theme for BPD's and about 33% of us end up that way. Maybe I'll make the 66%. I'm strong. But I'm so tired of being strong. It's like the stronger I am, the more life throws at me so I have to keep getting stronger. One day, I'll hit the wall too hard and not bounce back up.
I've hit the wall several times. Usually characterized by sleeping, drinking, eating and then picking myself back up. When will I hit and not bounce? I figure I have 30 natural years left. And I mean natural. I am a creature God made and I hate the creature part. It hurts so much. Look up Loretta Lynn's "(There Will Be) Peace In The Valley." I want it played at my funeral. Not completely biblical, but the meaning is there.
When do I become God's creature? Is that up to me or up to God. So far (usually) I've left it up to God. I feel he gave me my life and if I take it, I'm stealing from him. On the other hand, I feel like he's expecting a lot from this broken little creature he made and if I reach my end and he doesn't notice, then it's up to me. Or maybe that's his plan.
For now, I need to shop for a trike and an electrician. One step at a time. Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
Folks, I'm trashed. Been trashed since 14 months. This stuff messes up your life and just gets worse. Now I know why I have no friends, I don't really care about anyone, I react quickly and erractically, etc. It's not the PTSD, tho that's there. It's the BPD.
I'm am losing hope. Don't mean to be morbid, but like I read, this stuff doesn't get better. You can learn DBT, but it's like putting my mask back on, putting my wall up and getting back in my bubble. I swore I'd never do that again and I won't. I'd rather live alone as me than have fake friends for a fake person. I taught myself a lot of the DBT stuff as a child and made it up. I spent 12 years on a bus to and from school and no one ever spoke to me. EVER. Twelve years of being ostracized and learning avoidance. I see it now as a form of bullying. "Be like us or be avoided."
I'm now 57. My kids are grown. My 18 yr old will graduate next June. My 21 yr old has a girlfriend and a baby and maybe a job in a week that he'll like and keep. He wants to start his own household. I've been waiting for this moment for 2 yrs. My 18 yr old knows what she wants to do and how to do it. I'm in my empty nest and boy is it ever empty; especially after the divorce finalized yesterday.
So what do I do now that I believe it will just get worse and the research backs it up? First, I'm buying a recumbent trike. Then I'm doing a little fix up on the house and selling it. Then I'm going to travel around the US in my car with my trike.
Then what? I'm not sure. Maybe I'll come back to Texas. Maybe I'll find somewhere I like better (Kentucky? Tennessee? Mountains, woodlands, rivers?) Maybe I'll end it all. Suicide is a common theme for BPD's and about 33% of us end up that way. Maybe I'll make the 66%. I'm strong. But I'm so tired of being strong. It's like the stronger I am, the more life throws at me so I have to keep getting stronger. One day, I'll hit the wall too hard and not bounce back up.
I've hit the wall several times. Usually characterized by sleeping, drinking, eating and then picking myself back up. When will I hit and not bounce? I figure I have 30 natural years left. And I mean natural. I am a creature God made and I hate the creature part. It hurts so much. Look up Loretta Lynn's "(There Will Be) Peace In The Valley." I want it played at my funeral. Not completely biblical, but the meaning is there.
When do I become God's creature? Is that up to me or up to God. So far (usually) I've left it up to God. I feel he gave me my life and if I take it, I'm stealing from him. On the other hand, I feel like he's expecting a lot from this broken little creature he made and if I reach my end and he doesn't notice, then it's up to me. Or maybe that's his plan.
For now, I need to shop for a trike and an electrician. One step at a time. Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
DBT posts
I follow a DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Training) site on twitter. It's some guy and his corgi. Pretty, funny, caring and very little DBT. So I have decided to add DBT info to my blog.
I tried to write a blog on Fear of Abandonment as part of PTSD, but it just wouldn't come. Have no fear, Abandonment is here. Maybe I need an AbandonmentMan comic for it. My daughter does comics (really well!). I bet she's do them based on my, not ideas, but more like info or history or something. Then I'd do DBT articles, too.
Any suggestions for topics, your stories, etc, are appreciated. I'm thinking of a Vimeo or Radio type series, too. Too complicated yet. Still planning.
Any way, officially divorced today. Maybe a good abandonment topic. 5 hours at work; exhausted. Son, girlfriend, grandbaby left as soon as I got home to go to a friends home to watch a movie. Good for them, maybe another abandonment topic for me.
Keep holding on. I'm gonna buy a recumbent trike. Love, Lori B.
I tried to write a blog on Fear of Abandonment as part of PTSD, but it just wouldn't come. Have no fear, Abandonment is here. Maybe I need an AbandonmentMan comic for it. My daughter does comics (really well!). I bet she's do them based on my, not ideas, but more like info or history or something. Then I'd do DBT articles, too.
Any suggestions for topics, your stories, etc, are appreciated. I'm thinking of a Vimeo or Radio type series, too. Too complicated yet. Still planning.
Any way, officially divorced today. Maybe a good abandonment topic. 5 hours at work; exhausted. Son, girlfriend, grandbaby left as soon as I got home to go to a friends home to watch a movie. Good for them, maybe another abandonment topic for me.
Keep holding on. I'm gonna buy a recumbent trike. Love, Lori B.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
plans for posts
For now I am going to concentrate on physical symptoms of PTSD and how I react and how and what I change. I will add some of what I research, but I will be focusing on my personal reactions.
Crap, I hate this stuff.
Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
Crap, I hate this stuff.
Keep holding on. Love, Lori B.
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