Aloud - SCN
Jul. 18th, 2003 06:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigirlI have to write. I just have to. I was lying on the couch reading "How I Stayed Alive when my Brain was Trying to Kill me" and I suddenly had this wave of memories and emotions, and I just have to write them all down so I don't forget. Even if the thoughts come out disjointed and incoherent, it doesn't matter I just need to get them OUT!
So I was reading the chapter on prevention and what family members can do to show love and support for their suicidal loved ones. And Sue Blauner is telling the families they just need to listen and accept their loved ones feelings because depressed people need affirmation and love.
And I flashed back to the night...right around this time last year when I told Mom I thought I needed to be in a hospital. And I started crying because it was just so hard to tell her that because I knew it would scare her, and it was hard for me to admit to her that something was wrong since it's always been hard for me to trust my Mom. And I was so afraid she would say no, or yell at me or make me feel bad, but instead she didn't ask questions, she just moved over to the couch and held me while I cried. That's all. And she didn't say anything, she was just physically there. And I cried all over her shirt. And only when my sobs began to die down did she let me go, and without asking any questions she started making arrangements to get me into St. Vincent's the next day. And it was probably the best thing Mom could have done for me at the time. I might even go as far as to say it's the best thing she's ever done for me period! She just let me be, and she accepted my decision and she accepted my feelings and she didn't make me feel bad about either of them.
And I thought to myself "I wish she could have done that for me when I was younger." And with that thought came a flash back to me at 11. I remember coming home and crying almost everyday of my sixth grade year. I'd go into my room and just bawl. The kids at school teased me and I was convinced Mom hated me. REALLY hated me. And I would cry myself to sleep every night and I felt completely unsafe, and worthless, even more so then I do these days.
I just wish someone had been there to comfort me as an 11 year old. I wish I could have comforted me. But thinking back on it, I don't know what anyone could have said to me at 11 to make me feel better. Probably nothing. So, given that, I wish I could have been there to hold me. I wish I could have taken myself up onto my lap and stroked my 11 year old hair and let me cry on my shoulder. And I would listen to myself talk about all the awful things the kids did to me at school that day. And I would just hold me and listen and let myself know it was okay to feel bad. Tell me that I love me. That's all. No anecdotes about growing up, or anything like that, just acceptance. Just caring and comfort. I'd let me have my pain and ask myself what I could do to help me feel better. I wish my Mom could have done that.
When I have time on my hands I have a tendancy to...try and work out the emotional, mental, and physical issues in my life, and now that I am no longer religious I have no higher power to turn to. So now I find myself working on myself through "earth plane" methods such as psychology and physical fitness. I want to go into my closet and retrieve the journal I kept through sixth grade. I want to work those issues out. I want to do it by myself. Over the years I've internalized all those fucking therapy and self help methods, I can doctor myself as well as any shrink can. I want to learn more about me so I can understand why and how I am myself.
That's enough for now.
So I was reading the chapter on prevention and what family members can do to show love and support for their suicidal loved ones. And Sue Blauner is telling the families they just need to listen and accept their loved ones feelings because depressed people need affirmation and love.
And I flashed back to the night...right around this time last year when I told Mom I thought I needed to be in a hospital. And I started crying because it was just so hard to tell her that because I knew it would scare her, and it was hard for me to admit to her that something was wrong since it's always been hard for me to trust my Mom. And I was so afraid she would say no, or yell at me or make me feel bad, but instead she didn't ask questions, she just moved over to the couch and held me while I cried. That's all. And she didn't say anything, she was just physically there. And I cried all over her shirt. And only when my sobs began to die down did she let me go, and without asking any questions she started making arrangements to get me into St. Vincent's the next day. And it was probably the best thing Mom could have done for me at the time. I might even go as far as to say it's the best thing she's ever done for me period! She just let me be, and she accepted my decision and she accepted my feelings and she didn't make me feel bad about either of them.
And I thought to myself "I wish she could have done that for me when I was younger." And with that thought came a flash back to me at 11. I remember coming home and crying almost everyday of my sixth grade year. I'd go into my room and just bawl. The kids at school teased me and I was convinced Mom hated me. REALLY hated me. And I would cry myself to sleep every night and I felt completely unsafe, and worthless, even more so then I do these days.
I just wish someone had been there to comfort me as an 11 year old. I wish I could have comforted me. But thinking back on it, I don't know what anyone could have said to me at 11 to make me feel better. Probably nothing. So, given that, I wish I could have been there to hold me. I wish I could have taken myself up onto my lap and stroked my 11 year old hair and let me cry on my shoulder. And I would listen to myself talk about all the awful things the kids did to me at school that day. And I would just hold me and listen and let myself know it was okay to feel bad. Tell me that I love me. That's all. No anecdotes about growing up, or anything like that, just acceptance. Just caring and comfort. I'd let me have my pain and ask myself what I could do to help me feel better. I wish my Mom could have done that.
When I have time on my hands I have a tendancy to...try and work out the emotional, mental, and physical issues in my life, and now that I am no longer religious I have no higher power to turn to. So now I find myself working on myself through "earth plane" methods such as psychology and physical fitness. I want to go into my closet and retrieve the journal I kept through sixth grade. I want to work those issues out. I want to do it by myself. Over the years I've internalized all those fucking therapy and self help methods, I can doctor myself as well as any shrink can. I want to learn more about me so I can understand why and how I am myself.
That's enough for now.
