Pink Pajamas

I’ve tried to write this out many times in the past.  In fact this is the seventh time the post was titled “Pink Pajamas”.  Today is Therapy Thursday and the topic took up a solid half hour.  Me just sitting there trying to get the words out.  Working hard to keep my head in the present.  Posting this is hard even though I just talked about it.  Here goes nothing.

I was 7 or 8 years old.  It was Christmas Eve.  We read the Bible and ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.  We hung up our stockings.  It’s a Christmas tradition to get new pajamas on Christmas Eve.  Mine were those one piece pajamas with the feet.  Mine were pink.

It was time to go to bed.  But I was warned that bad little girls got nothing in their stockings.  And I sure that I was a bad little girl.

Later that night, my dad came in and undressed me.  I remembered how cold it was.  He whispered in my ear that he knew how to make me a good girl.  Then he had his way with me.  He didn’t dress me though.  I slept all night naked.

In the morning, my mom came in to wake me up.  She asked why I didn’t have my pajamas on.  I told her I got hot.  I put them on and followed her to the living room.  I guess I was a good girl because my stocking was full and there were presents under the tree.

Dr. D pointed out that things came with strings attached.  And they really did.  That’s the topic for Monday.  I thought in light of everything going on, I should probably see her twice a week for a little while.


Therapy Thursday

What a rough time today.  Going two days in a row is rough.  But I didn’t expect it to be this rough.  I pretty much picked up where I left off.  I know Dr. D is concerned.  It’s hard for me to understand why.  The same goes for Dr. W.  On Dr. D’s urging, I left a message for Dr. W.  The panic attacks.  The flashbacks.  They have gotten worse lately.  I think I didn’t share this with Dr. W for fear of ending up in the hospital.  I bet that isn’t a rational thought.  They don’t throw you butt in the hospital unless you’re a danger to yourself or others.  What I know, however, isn’t working to calm down what I feel.

For the first time in however many years I’ve been going, I admitted to Dr. D about the cutting.  People sometimes get the wrong idea.  For me, it was to externalize the pain I was feeling.  I talked about how long it’s been since I last cut.  I talked about the urges and how they’re getting stronger and stronger.  Dr. D took it in stride.  I had expected some sort of belittling.  I don’t know.  Scolding maybe.  But all she showed was compassion.  She asked the usual questions.  When did I start?  What made me stop?  Did I feel in danger?

Today was another day.  I couldn’t cry.  I thought I was going to.  I pinched my leg to try and keep it under control.  I hate tears.  I hear my mom’s voice.  “If you want to cry, I’ll give you something to cry about!”  It usually ended up with the belt.

She asked about how structure of childhood kept me functioning (although not in those words).  I was trying to respond that it was some sort of normality in life.  All of a sudden I was hit with flashbacks harder than ever.  I’m pretty sure I was having a panic attack too.  I vaguely remember hearing my name.  But I couldn’t snap out of it.  It was like I was in a film on a repetitive loop.  As I calmed down, I could only stare at the fish.  I couldn’t look Dr. D in the eyes.  We talked some about what I went through in those last 5 minutes.  It was all so overwhelming.  I went back to the thought of routine and only could say there was nothing normal about it.  But it was sort of a loose routine.  I went to bed.  He came in.  He molested me.  He left.  I went to sleep.  Every single night.

I tried to hide.  I don’t know why I bothered.  He always got me out.  Sometimes it was with extraordinary anger.  He almost ripped the closet door off once or twice.  I finally gave up on hiding.  There was no point.  There was no stopping the abuse.

All of this came out today.  Dr. D asked if there were any new memories.  Nope.  The same old ones.  The ones that still hurt so much.  I need to let her know I need her to be more aggressive in trying to get me out of that loop.  Like I said, I kind of heard her calling my name.  But it wasn’t enough.  It didn’t break though the images, sounds, feelings or panic.  The one thing she did try to get me to do after I calmed down was to keep my eyes open.  I totally understand that.  In my history of therapy, that was something I definitely learned.  It hard sometimes.  I really want to block out everything.  But by blocking out everything external, I get caught up in my head.

Dr. D asked me to come back on Monday morning so we can keep on top of everything.  What was I going to say?  I suppose I could have said no.  But that didn’t seem wise.  I know I need to keep working, especially through the radiation.  Speaking of which, I’m almost half way done.  Yay for me.  So, I’ll go back on Monday.  If I make it through the weekend that is.  Dr. D gave me her cell phone number so I can always call or shoot her a text if need be.

Left Field

It’s been a long time since I had an abuse flavored nightmare.  And for that, I’m thankful.  It made me realize how far I’ve come. What made this one all the more disturbing is that it was conjoined with “memories” of what my best friend’s funeral would have been like.  The whole thing was bizarre.  Besides M, I can only identify one other person, C.  C and M were good friends.  I was friends with C too, more so now since M’s death.

I was at M’s wake in the dream.  Of course, I couldn’t really go because I was in Korea.  If I had had the money, I would have gone in a heartbeat and told my boss to go fuck herself for a week.  I was devastated because I wasn’t there for M.  We talked on the phone and IM, but I wasn’t there for her in person through her cancer battle.  And that I regret.

In my dream the whole wake turned into a three ring circus.  The music was all wrong.  I have a feeling I knew the priest, but I can’t put my finger on who it was.  At the end, I was in a room all by myself crying.  The priest came in and asked if I wanted to talk, so I started talking about M.  I have a feeling the priest was really Father A from Austin, but it didn’t look like him.  All he kept saying was “There’s something else you need to talk about”.  I kept insisting no.  Finally I was screaming at him “I don’t want to talk about my father!”  And then my father walks in.

That’s where I wake up.  I was sweating and shaking, on the verge of tears.  I think deep down I know my therapy really isn’t finished.  I’ll be heading back to Korea soon (I got a job in the city I was working before so I can keep my pdoc and rheumy).  I guess I’ll try to find someone who does therapy.  I won’t be starting work until 1 or so, which gives me time to see docs in the morning.

Even though it’s been hours, I’m still quite upset.  My fibro pain is flaring up so I took a pain pill, which of course is making me sleepy.  I think I’ll put on some mindless TV and maybe fall asleep to it even though it’s on 3:30.  Not that I really want to sleep.  I want my brain to shut the hell up.  Maybe I should have taken some Ativan instead of the pain pill…


Bloody nightmares.  I wake up in a panic.  I have a hard time figuring out where I am.  The cats have been sticking closer to me in bed (either that or their cold since I keep my apartment on the chilly side).  None of my old tricks are working.  I’m heading to bed.  I’m going to get up early and do the P90 cardio.  That way if it totally kicks my butt (yes, I’ll listen to my body) I can go back to bed for an hour or so.

And please tell the cats to sit quietly.  This is not time for hide and seek.

Pin Cushion

Three sticks to get an IV.  10 or 12 shots from the neck to the tailbone.  Yeah.  Pin cushion pretty much sums it up.  It’s worth it.  The shots are down to maintenance to try and prevent the pain from escalating.

I woke up from a dream in a state of full blown panic (hence the IV to give me some Valium).  I was still very worked up when I got to Dr. P’s office.  I think the dream had something to do with the pink pajamas.  I really don’t want to write about it now.

And, as it’s NCIS time, I’m off.  I got one out of three tests written and started and a second.

Pink Pajamas

Woke up to my mother yelling “You little slut.  Why are you naked?  You’re going to get it tonight.”

Nice dream to wake up to after an early morning bout of insomnia.

Nearly 11 hours at work today.  I hope I can get out of bed in time to get to PT tomorrow.  I need to talk to Dr. K about something stronger for the pain, at least for the next couple days so I can get some decent rest.  I can’t get comfortable in my bed (and sharing a twin bed with two cats doesn’t make it any easier).


This is a piece, well, that I don’t know how to describe.  I’ve been having pain at night.  And I’ve been having more nightmares.  So I just started putting color on paper.  There is something relaxing about getting your fingers in the chalk (though I do use tissue to blend larger areas).  I guess I need to find some place safe to store these pieces.  I fix the pastels with spay fixative so I’m not so worried about them degrading.  It’s the random cleaning sprees.  I think I threw out all of my other art work when I moved.

Same Dreams

I’ve been having those same pink pajama dreams again.  It’s like the middle of the dream is missing.  I remember going to bed in the pajamas.  But the next part of the dream is hidden in like a fog.  I’ve never experienced anything like that before.  At the end of the dream, I’m naked and shivering.  I don’t cry out.  I don’t try to get help.  I can’t even tell how old I am.  I just put the pajamas back on.

It’s like this weird cycle.  I’ll wake up from the dream and then when I fall back to sleep, I’ll slip right back into it.


I’m tired right now.  Monday is my hell day 5 straight hours of teaching.  I have to go for the trigger point injections tomorrow.  Originally, it was just the left side of my neck and shoulder that was bothering me.  But now it’s back to both side.  I’m going to feed the cats and head to bed.

New Meds

Wow.  Things changed completely.  Gone is the Lexapro and most of the tricyclics.  In their place, Paxil, Effexor, Risperdol and Imiprimine.  He changed me from Ativan back to Valium (actually I think he’s old school and forgets the newer benzos).  Klonopin was perfect, but the dumb folks at the Korean FDA have said it can no longer be used to treat anxiety disorder, just seizure disorder.  It makes no sense to me.  And I guess the Korean FDA frowns on off label use of medications.

I’m a bit worried about the Effexor because it gave me such bad nausea in the past.  He’s got me on a small dose of perphenazine to help prevent the nausea.

I didn’t sleep well last night.  The Risperdol made me sleepy and I slept for about an hour and a half.  Then I was up for the rest of the night.  That might be more due to the migraine than the change in meds.  We’re going to give it to next Monday and reevaluate then.

How do I feel? Frustrated.  That’s for sure.  I feel like I’ve been going backwards rather than forward.  The nightmares and flashbacks have been bad.  Some of the recent ones were triggered by my trip to Seoul and sleeping on the floor there.  I’m not ready to write about it yet.  And I’m still trying to clarify in my mind what happened.  I’m having a hard time keeping it together at work.  What I really need is a vacation.  I’ll get that at the end of July, but that seems forever and a day away.  I’m going to try to make the best of my weekends and not stress my body too much.

I talked to my orthopedist because my tendonitis in my wrist seems to be coming back.  I asked him about the generalized pain I’ve been having for years.  He diagnosed me with neuropathic pain.  He, however, didn’t give me anything to treat it.  The TCAs I’ve been on are considered a first line treatment, but they aren’t helping.  I may talk to Dr. P again about prescribing something.  I have to go back to the ortho (Dr. K) on Friday and I’ll ask him if he can prescribe something.  I’m not even bothering with Dr. What’s His Name (stupid internal medicine guy) because he’ll just tell me to go see a specialist.  I see him once a month to get my thyroid meds, but I’m considering looking for someone new.

I guess that’s it.  It’s almost 9 PM.  Gidgette has a built-in timer in her stomach and she’s telling me it’s dinner time.  Plus it’s time to watch Myth Busters (yay for blowing stuff up).

Pink Pajamas

The flashbacks I’ve been having lately are becoming more clear.  I can clearly see myself, but not my surroundings or the other person (people maybe?)

In them, I’m wearing those footed pajamas.  You know the kind you put on little babies, but they make them in bigger sizes too. Ugh, a quick Google image search showed they make them for adults too.  *shudder*  I digress.  The pajamas I’m wearing are light pink with the white vinyl nonskid feet.  The trim on the collar and sleeves is striped with pink and white.

Part of me wants to know what’s up with this.  What happened.  But then again, I don’t want to know.  I know so much already and it’s really distressing.  Why does this make me feel so damn crazy?