“Cyclops” therapy at the state fair.

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statefair

My last post described the depression and emptiness I’ve been feeling with both the change of weather (because I have fall/winter SAD), and the return of painful feelings of emptiness triggered by the memory a perfect week long vacation now receding from short-term into long-term memory, its details beginning to fade and merge with other, more distant memories.

But sometimes you have to create your own joy. You have to find a way to have a good time right where you are. You have to build your own little enclave of joy within the confines of everyday reality.

All week long my daughter has been begging me to go to the North Carolina State Fair with her. I kept finding excuses: I’m too tired, it’s a weeknight, I have to be up too early, I’m too old to enjoy rides anymore, the food will give me indigestion. I sounded like I was 90 years old and ready to enter the nursing home!

Tonight I finally ceded, because she’s going out of town for four days and the fair will be over by then. She was already there a few nights ago and told me it was a blast. Why not have a little fun, especially as depressed as I felt?

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I bought tickets, enough for a few rides. I wasn’t sure I would go on any, but I actually went on three. The first one, the Himalaya, is a ride I fondly remember existing when I was 18 and used to ride on it at Coney Island, the Jersey Shore,  and Rockaway Beach in New York. I remembered it being fun and somewhat exciting but not overly intense. Back in the day, disco music was played during the ride; now it was EDM. But the ride itself has not changed at all and I found I enjoyed it as much as when I was 18, and I didn’t get sick either.

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But that ride was tame compared to the next one I went on. It was called the Cyclops and I would never have gone on it except I was strong-armed into it! I was not given a choice! I stared at it for awhile in horrified fascination, watching the two circular, neon-lit ends spinning wildly while gradually going higher and higher until the people in them were almost upside down. And screaming. Resigned to my fate, I insisted on having the middle seat. Once the tickets were handed over and we were inside the gate and ascending the metal ramp, I shook with terror. What was wrong with me? I used to go on rides far scarier than this during my teens and twenties: the Zipper and the Hammer came to mind–rides so intense and potentially dangerous they have actually been banned in many places.

What finally gave me a little courage was an eager smiling seven year old boy ahead of me in line. Hell, if this little boy wasn’t scared, then why should I be? I felt grateful to him and hopped on into my seat. The operator pulled down the big metal restraint down in front of me and I got a tinge of fear again when the ride began to move. At first it wasn’t too bad, sort of relaxing even, but soon it got really, REALLY intense as the circular contraption I was in began to go vertical so I was sideways, looking down and spinning crazily at the same time. I lost my sense of bearings, and shut my eyes tight. I began to scream, “Oh shit! Oh Jesus! Oh shit! Oh Jesus” over and over and over. I could hear my daughter, who was next to me, laughing hysterically. I felt like my organs were being rearranged as centrifugal force alternately plastered me against the side of my seat, then the back, then pitched me forward so I felt like I was going to go flying out of my restraints and meet my death.

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One end of “The Cyclops”  reaching maximum intensity.  At its peak, its riders are nearly upside down as the circular portion spins crazily. 

“Open your eyes!” she screamed. “No way!” I yelled back, clutching the bars in front of me in white knuckled terror. I kept my eyes squeezed so tightly shut they hurt.

Slowly the ride began to slow down, and cautiously, I opened my eyes. I saw the fair down below, all the flashing lights of the rides and game booths and the people down below watching us from an insane angle. But it was bearable now and I could keep them open and look. I realized I’d been hyperventilating and my fingers felt numb and tingly. I was grinning like an idiot as I got off my seat and drunkenly made my way down the metal gangplank.

“You want to go on it again, don’t you?” my daughter teased.
“Maybe next year,” I said, and I meant it.
“Next year you have to promise to keep your eyes open the whole time,” she said.
I know I will next time, too.

I felt victorious. Passing through the throngs of other fairgoers on the way back to the car, I spied a snack stand. I needed a soda because my mouth felt like cotton batting, but I also wanted to try a fried Oreo. I’ve never had a fried Oreo before. It was artery-clogging and delicious. Another new experience.

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These are the kinds of things that can relieve depression. Sure, great memories recede and fade, but they never leave you. And they’re not all that is. You can always make new happy memories. Riding the Cyclops tonight was something I’ll remember for a long time, and as scared as I was, I’m so glad I did it.    I guess I’m not too old after all (but I’m glad I ate the fried Oreo after the ride and not before!)

To my Mom’s “Credit”

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This barren wasteland.

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barren_wasteland

In my life, I’ve rarely experienced true happiness, of the kind I experienced during the week of August 21, when I was on the Florida Gulf coast visiting my son.  I wrote a lot on this blog about the experience I had while basking in the warm Gulf waters and exploring the beaches and gazing at the unbelievable sunsets, and just being able to relax, forget my worries, and spend time with an almost 25 year old man who I love with a fierceness I reserve for very, very few people.  I felt very close to the divine during that time.   Even the 700 mile road trip going there and back was a sort of spiritual experience for me.   Everything about that week was perfect. I never felt so much at peace with myself and the world.  I felt somehow changed.

It occurred to me today that this weekend will be a month (4 weeks) since I began my vacation.  It’s a cherished memory now (and one that changed me in some profound way), but is now receding ever deeper into the past, joining the other few happy memories I have, most which happened much longer ago than this.     The memory is probably far enough in the past now that it’s no longer part of my short term memory but has now entered my long term memory.

While I’m grateful beyond words that I got to have this amazing experience, and know it won’t be the last time (I’m tentatively planning to return at the end of March),  I feel a deep sadness that it’s over tinged with a kind of yearning to return there forever.  Not so much because I miss the location of where I was, or even that I miss being in close proximity to my son (though I miss those things too), but the feeling of pure joy I had unfettered by anything else.  Rarely have I felt that kind of joy and lightness, and when I have, it’s been fleeting, like the momentary reflection of the sun on a dragonfly’s wings.

It’s been said that you can’t feel sadness without having known what happiness felt like.   Sadness is about loss.  In my case the loss of that deep, pure joy is bringing me into contact with the abyss of emptiness that still lives deep inside me, heavy and dark and cold, like a barren wasteland in which a chill wind always howls and it’s always winter and where nothing ever grows.

I tried praying about it, for I know it was really feeling close to the divine that made me feel so full of joy, not the actual surroundings, but it was just so much easier when I was away.    It’s hard to get that feeling back.   I look around my surroundings here and am reminded of how much I hate this time of year when the days are growing shorter and the nights longer, and  nature’s beginning to look tired and spent before going to sleep again for another winter.   Being here, without the sun and the sea and the sand, so far inland, back in the daily grind of real life, just reminds me of all the heartbreaks and losses and disappointments and hurts that have contaminated my life and pockmarked my soul full of raw and gaping holes.

This feeling of sad emptiness is very hard to explain.  I do suffer from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) so that might have something to do with it, but I go through that every year.   This is different.  I feel like I’ve suffered a terrible loss, like a death, and like there’s no way I’ll ever feel that kind of joy again.   I want to so badly and I know I will, but right now it feels like it’s forever gone.

I imagine normal people feel that kind of joy more often, even if they don’t all the time.    I know I need to find a way to feel that lightness of spirit no matter where I am, but at the moment, I’m overwhelmed with this terrible nostalgia and sadness because my memory of that perfect week is no longer that recent and is quickly receding into the distant past, where details are forgotten or corrupted by other memories.   For that one week, it seemed as if the emptiness inside me was filled for a change; now it’s just empty again.

I always knew the emptiness was there, but I was so emotionally numb and so used to it that I regarded it as normal. I didn’t really think about it; it was just always there. Now it’s nearly unbearable. It could mean that I’m close to diving into the void because it seems so much nearer than it ever did before. Maybe I’m closer to it because so many of my usual defenses have fallen away. Maybe tomorrow night’s session will be an interesting one; I’ve noticed that just before a breakthrough I become more depressed than usual.

I called my therapist crying today and left a long message about how overwhelmed I felt by this spiritual and emotional barrenness.   I’ll be seeing him tomorrow;  I guess we need to talk about it.   I got a small taste of what it’s like to be mentally and spiritually alive and healthy, without any disorders, but the downside of that is that once you’ve seen heaven, reality seems like hell.

#22 – Proof That Borderlines Are Motivated for Psychotherapy and Can Fully Recover

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BPDTransformation used to be one of my commenters but has not posted anything in his blog in over a year, or made any more comments here.   Edward (his real name) wrote fascinating, intelligent, and extremely well researched articles about BPD, which he was diagnosed with. At some point he came to believe BPD was a bogus diagnosis, a catchall for an array of symptoms that weren’t easily classified or understood. (Some people believe BPD and C-PTSD are the same disorder, which does make sense to me).

Edward, who became BPD-free, writes here about how motivated many borderlines are to recover, and how effective psychotherapy can be in healing this disorder. This flies in the face of the common belief that because BPD is in the Cluster B group of personality disorders, that it’s just something you have to resign to yourself to having forever.

The article, like all of Edward’s articles, is a bit on the scholarly side, but is still a very good read and helps reduce the stigma against people with BPD.

bpdtransformation's avatarBPD Transformation

This post will answer critics who say: “Borderlines are not motivated to attend therapy. Borderline patients don’t stay in treatment. At best, therapy can manage but not cure BPD.”

These statements are absolutely false. Yet these myths continue to appear online, often being communicated to people recently diagnosed. As the studies below demonstrate, most people diagnosed with BPD do want help, most will stay in good treatment, and most do recover to different degrees.

Earlier posts have elaborated my dim view of the (non) validity of the BPD diagnosis. Since it cites studies using the BPD construct, this post might be viewed as hypocritical. That may be a valid criticism! Nevertheless, these studies provide evidence that people with “borderline symptoms”, however defined, can be motivated and recover both with and without therapy

Study 1:  88 Borderline Patients Treated Twice a Week for Three Years

Highlights: Led by Josephine Giesen at…

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Spam, wonderful spam.

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Most of my spam gets auto-deleted, but some still makes it through.   Here are a few new gems dug up from my spam folder.

 

I’m not even going to read this. The headline tells me enough, and it’s disgusting.

The headline referred to was my page called “Chicken Soup.”

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Why people stiⅼl mɑke usе oof to read news paperrs wɦᥱn in this technological globe the
ᴡhole thingg iѕ ɑvailable օn net?

How many times was this translated and from what obscure languages?

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Hi! This post could not be written any better! Reading this post reminds me of my good old room mate!
He always kept talking about this. I will forward this article to him.
Fairly certain he will have a good read. Thank you for sharing!

You can always tell a spam post because of how fake and contrived they sound.

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Hmm it seems like your blog ate my first comment (it was extremely long) so I guess I’ll just sum it up what I had written and say, I’m thoroughly enjoying your blog. I as well am an aspiring blog blogger but I’m still new to everything. Do you have any helpful hints for novice blog writers? I’d genuinely appreciate it.

What’s an aspiring blog blogger?

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Ay! I recognise this. Cramped space, reparations, irritations… and cats. Ayayay

WHAT?  (I like cats though.)

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Excellent site. Lots of useful indo here. I am sending it to
a few buddiies ans alsoo sharing iin delicious.
And naturally, thaks in yur sweat!

Spelchek iz yur frend.

 

 

 

 

Believe in you.

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When time stands still: 15th anniversary of 9/11

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394261 14: A fiery blasts rocks the World Trade Center after being hit by two planes September 11, 2001 in New York City. (Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

394261 14: A fiery blasts rocks the World Trade Center after being hit by two planes September 11, 2001 in New York City. (Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

Not too long ago, one of my regular readers spoke of seeing a bunch of military tanks practicing for a martial law takeover. In America, I am hearing of an increasing number of incidents like this. I try to avoid the news, but there’s an increasing and unavoidable sense of panic that our nation may be on the brink of a removal of all our freedoms as martial law becomes the norm rather than the exception. It’s very frightening.

But what I really want to talk about is the feeling of unreality and dissociation that accompanies seeing something like what my reader did.  She said when she saw the tanks, she felt as if she was dreaming. It didn’t seem real to her. I know that feeling, and I think almost everyone who is old enough knows that feeling: it happened on September 11, 2001.

I think just about everyone remembers exactly what they were doing the moment it happened. I’m not sure of the psychological reasons why whenever there is a major historical disaster — JFK or MLK getting shot and killed…Pearl Harbor…The Challenger disaster…9/11 — we remember exactly where we were and what we were doing with unusual clarity. It’s as if our mind takes a picture at the moment we hear or see bad news.

Here’s how I remember 9/11. It’s hard to believe it was 15 years ago, because my memory of it is so clear and sharp edged. Yet I can’t remember what I had for breakfast that morning.

That day was a brilliant and beautiful, filled with sunshine, not a cloud in the sky. It was warm as early September can be, but the oppressive humidity of high summer was gone. Fall was in the air.

I was at work, in the lunch room, making myself a cup of coffee when I heard. A coworker came in, looking pale as a sheet. He said one of the Twin Towers in New York was down, that a plane had crashed into it. I stared at him, thinking he must be joking. But I could tell from his face he was not. I forgot all about the coffee, and followed him into one of the offices where a TV was on. Everyone was gathered around the TV, and there was an eerie silence. No one said a word.

On the TV they were showing a replay of the plane crashing through the first tower. I felt like I was dreaming. No, this couldn’t be real. It looked like a movie — an action movie like “Independence Day.” No way was this happening. It had to be a movie, with phenomenal special effects.

As I stared at the screen, I saw the second tower go down in black smoke and flames. A plane had crashed through it too. No, no, no, this wasn’t happening. It was some elaborate set-up, like the “War of the Worlds” bogus radio newscast back in the 1930s.

In a fog, I slowly walked back to my desk. I only had one phone call that day. Although the office didn’t close, no one was working…and no one cared. No other customers called. No one talked, except in hushed whispers. There was a lot of crying going on, even for those who had lost no one in the disaster and had never been to New York City in their lives. As for myself, I felt nothing. I just felt numb. I didn’t feel like myself at all. It wasn’t until the next day that I burst into tears thinking about it. I can’t even imagine how it would have felt to have been right there, watching these horrible events unfold from a New York City apartment window, as many did…or worse, be just outside the towers when it happened.

Whenever we hear bad news, whether it’s something that affects only us (such as when someone we love dies) or something that affects an entire nation like 9/11, we remember these events with the clarity of a movie. I’m not sure what the reason is for this, or what purpose it serves, but I believe it’s a form of dissociation–when we temporarily split from ourselves and feel as if we’re viewing the events from an outsider’s perspective. That accounts for the surrealness of these moments. It’s why we have a photographic memory for them. Maybe this is a way we protect ourselves from the shock of unbearably bad news at the moment it happens — and can’t grieve properly until our minds are ready to process it.

How does everyone remember 9/11 and what was your experience of it like?

Meet and Greet: 9/10/16

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Lucky Otters Haven is 2 years old! (Part two)

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(Continued from Part One)

Screenshots are all courtesy of The Wayback Machine (which you can spend hours browsing — it’s fascinating in its own right).

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June 27, 2015

Several changes now.  I finally grew a brain and got rid of the appalling “Museum of Narcissism” and from here on out, the title would not change again (except for the removal of the apostrophe).

I also shifted the focus (seen in the subtitle) from “narcissistic abuse” to NPD and BPD in general, as I was beginning to grow tired of just being angry and was starting to want to learn more about these disorders (of course, narcissistic abuse has always been a staple of this blog and still is).   “Aspie” still remained for the time being.   I also had expanded the number of menu items in the subheader.   By now, my follower count was 1,041.

 

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August 11, 2015

LOH was now nearly a year old.  Some important new changes are evident.   I think it’s beginning to resemble the current look more–I’d finally removed “Aspie” from the subheader, as I now had more clarity on what my real problems were (and it wasn’t Aspergers).  Visually too, the look is an improvement, with a darker gray menu bar which made the menu items easier to read.   I probably had a few too many menu items though.  Later I had to consolidate them so some appear now as little dropdowns.  1,115 followers.

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October 11, 2015

Font changes in both the headings, title and text.   The font I chose for the title and headings would not change again until last week.   Still too many menu items so it looks a bit cluttered.   1,221 followers at this point.

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November 12, 2015

The second major facelift.   This new look would stay (with only minor changes) until just one week ago.  The wallpaper and header were both in a green “beehive” pattern, with the header photo-manipulated to be somewhat lighter in the middle so the simplified subhead “walking on the borderline” would stand out.   Menu items now white on black. I think overall it’s a nice look, very professional, but I finally tired of it a week ago and LOH got its third major facelift.

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March 27, 2016

Not too many changes, other than FINALLY consolidating the menu items so it looks a lot less cluttered and easier to read.   1,591 followers.

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June 29, 2016

This is the way this blog looked just prior to the facelift I did last week.   The only real change here is the subheader changed from “walking on the borderline” to “Confessions of a recovering borderline.”  (this change was inspired by my therapist telling me he thought I no longer had BPD).   There were two more screenshots taken in August, but nothing else had changed.

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Finally…

The new look is somewhat of a throwback to its original look.  I think it looks friendlier and more welcoming than the “beehive” look.

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I love Ferdinand Ladera’s moody painting, and wanted to use that again, but I wanted a simple black header this time, so this time I used the painting as the wallpaper instead.    I wasn’t sure how that would turn out, but I love the look, and I like the way the dark trees appear on the right hand side.  I also changed the header fonts and think they’re easier to read, and removed the apostrophe from “Otters”, mainly to simplify the look of the title.  It’s not really ungrammatical, because I’m not the only otter swimming up from the murky waters of an abusive past.

Lucky Otters Haven is 2 years old! (Part One)

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Yes, this blog has officially entered its Terrible Twos!

In celebration of this milestone,  I’m going to be showing you how it’s evolved since it’s inception (well, actually, 4 months after its inception), thanks to The Wayback Machine, which crawls the web periodically and takes screenshots of websites so they’re forever caught in time.

While I’ve stuck with the free Twenty-Ten theme the whole time, I’ve changed its look rather drastically several times (thanks to Custom Design, which I recommend because it gives you more options than the free plan). I definitely think this blog looks a LOT more professional than it did when it was new.   But I was learning as I went along.

This is Part One of two.  I’ll post Part Two immediately after this.  Both should be up later tonight.

Screenshots from The Wayback Machine:

January 18, 2015

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This was the first time LOH was “crawled” and photographed.   At the time, I still believed I had Aspergers (self diagnosed), which explains the subheader.   Early posts of mine were a lot more angry and “narc-hating,” since I had only been No Contact for a short time.  I had far less awareness into myself than I do now.  Spiritually, I was also still an agnostic.   Reading back over some of these early posts is a little embarrassing because I’ve changed so much, but is also fascinating for the same reason.   But it was blogging that got the ball rolling on all the awesome changes I’m undergoing.   It was probably the best decision I ever made.

If you’re interested in reading these earlier posts, they can be accessed through the Archives drop-down menu in the sidebar. Just pick the month and year you want to see.

You can’t see the whole sidebar, but when this screenshot was taken, this blog had just 437 followers.   That’s still quite a few, considering it was only 4 months old!

In case it’s not obvious, the painting in the subhead is the same one I’m now using as the wallpaper.

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February 21, 2015

Not many changes.  563 followers now.

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March 18, 2015

LOH’s first “facelift”:  I rather like the cute otter wallpaper I chose and the gray color scheme is easier on the eyes (as is the title font), and the subhead is in a more eye-catching font too.  But I have no earthly idea what I was thinking when I chose to take out “Haven” in favor of the atrocious “Museum of Narcissism.”  LOL!  It makes me laugh now, but I guess I still thought of narcs as some kind of zoo creatures to be gawked at (which they certainly can be!)  I’m also not sure why I decided to put “The” in front of the title.  Whatever!   There were 679 followers by now.

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April 23, 2015

Not too many new changes, but by now I’d added the “Borderline” into the subhead title.   Due to the stigma, I’d been kind of in the closet about it at first, but had “come out” by now.  I still believed I had Aspergers though. I also notice I’d removed the idiotic “The” from the title.  776 followers.

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I didn’t want too many graphics in the same post, because it slows down load time, which is why it’s in two parts.

(Continued in Part Two)