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Donna Mae DePola - Guest Speaker Chat ...May 25th 2013 ... for more information please read this!
There is still plenty of time and spaces if you'd like to sign up for the Guest Speaker Chat scheduled for this Saturday!
There is still plenty of time and spaces if you'd like to sign up for the Guest Speaker Chat scheduled for this Saturday!
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I perseverate about what I cannot say. About nothing really because I do not know what it is that I cannot say. It just feels like there is something, something to say, something to express, something to get out. But it does not come because I do not know what it is. I go to therapy, and we talk, we go deep as it gets, and I still leave feeling this feeling, something in me unsaid, unexpressed
I wish I knew what it was. I wish I knew how to get it out.
Sometimes I think I just need to tell my story. Over and over and over, get it out, say every word, every detail, everything that happened. I wish I could figure out a way to draw it. But my inability to draw makes that seem daunting.
I am tired of the emptiness, I am tired of sitting in the feeling, then sitting down and nothing coming out. I am tired of not quite being able to get there. I am tired of this running my life. I am tired of it feeling overwhelming and yet nothing at the same time. How is that even possible?
I intellectualize, I rationalize, I think to much. Which is strange because it is not my nature. Which is probably why it does not work, why it feels so uncomfortable. It isn't me. I need to find a way to feel it.
I feel on some level there is still denial. Denial that any of this is really real. Denial that any of it really happened. I don't want it to have been real. I want to have had a normal childhood (Whatever that is) I want to not have this always there.
And it is always there. Constantly. It never goes away. It never eases up. It is always there in some way in some fashion. I can't just push it out of my mind, not just for a second.
I don't know if anyone else does this, but sometimes when I think about what happened, I can't imagine it happening to me the child, I imagine it as my adult self. I picture me, the adult. It feels disconnected and cut off. Like there is me, and there is her, and it did not happen to me, it happened to her. Its HER story, not mine.
When I talk about it in therapy I can feel the disconnect, I can feel the detachment, I can feel the lack of feeling. I can't let her speak, I can't let her in. I want to be able to, I want to be able to say everything I need to say. But I go blank and there is nothing. There is nothing to say
I would not even know where to start.
I wish I knew what it was. I wish I knew how to get it out.
Sometimes I think I just need to tell my story. Over and over and over, get it out, say every word, every detail, everything that happened. I wish I could figure out a way to draw it. But my inability to draw makes that seem daunting.
I am tired of the emptiness, I am tired of sitting in the feeling, then sitting down and nothing coming out. I am tired of not quite being able to get there. I am tired of this running my life. I am tired of it feeling overwhelming and yet nothing at the same time. How is that even possible?
I intellectualize, I rationalize, I think to much. Which is strange because it is not my nature. Which is probably why it does not work, why it feels so uncomfortable. It isn't me. I need to find a way to feel it.
I feel on some level there is still denial. Denial that any of this is really real. Denial that any of it really happened. I don't want it to have been real. I want to have had a normal childhood (Whatever that is) I want to not have this always there.
And it is always there. Constantly. It never goes away. It never eases up. It is always there in some way in some fashion. I can't just push it out of my mind, not just for a second.
I don't know if anyone else does this, but sometimes when I think about what happened, I can't imagine it happening to me the child, I imagine it as my adult self. I picture me, the adult. It feels disconnected and cut off. Like there is me, and there is her, and it did not happen to me, it happened to her. Its HER story, not mine.
When I talk about it in therapy I can feel the disconnect, I can feel the detachment, I can feel the lack of feeling. I can't let her speak, I can't let her in. I want to be able to, I want to be able to say everything I need to say. But I go blank and there is nothing. There is nothing to say
I would not even know where to start.
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Maybe somehow let chelirach the child do some drawing? Is that part of you willing to communicate with you?
Perhaps it is block that it is not you of today that needs to say something but the child you needs to say something. I do some collaging and I find that helpful with my depression. I was wondering if maybe it would help if you got that Indian head chief paper that you had in school when you were learning to write with the fat no 2 pencil (at least that is what I had in grade school) and use those to free write as your child self. Just an idea.
I know what is like to want to say something and don't for whatever reason and as my introverted self I think everything to death. LOL My T has asked me to explain how I process things and I attempted to do so and she was amazed and asked me do I really do all the thinking all the time. Yes I do. She said no wonder I was tired all the time. LOL
Take good care of you and many blessings.
Maybe you could draw, or paint, or use pastels or charcoal, in an abstract way. I think that using images or symbols instead of using realistic looking art could be just as powerful as drawing something that is supposed to be realistic. You could use nothing more than color, for example. Like, what color does your anger feel. Or your fear, or anxiety. Or your happiness. Or, even, what do those colors make you feel. If that makes sense.
I am sorry you are struggling with denial. And that it is always there. That has to be overwhelming, that it never eases up or goes away.
I hope that you can find a way that works for you, to be able to express what you haven't been able to get out. My thoughts are with you.