How I've been and questions about scars ***

*** Possibly triggering - suicidal ideation and self-harm ***

I haven't posted in a while. I just haven't been able to. Every time I've thought about writing out how I'm feeling ... yeah, emotional shut-down basically.

Life has been, at times, hell on earth. I hope never to find out what hell is really like, but boy, this is quite as bad as I can take, thank you very much.

I actually had to text my personal, long-term therapist the other day, cause I was feeling that bad and was getting so close to actually following through on a suicidal ideation ... no, I know it just isn't an option. I've promised my husband I won't, he trusts me 100% and I know that this is a promise I am going to keep - as sacred, if not more, than my marriage vows.

But you know? It still scares me sh*tless when I'm that close to the edge. And in a weired, twisted sort of way, the fact that I know I can't do it and that I have to stay here, makes it worse - like I have no way out and am in some kind of prison or restraints.

I guess that ultimately, hopefully, that's for the best.

So here is a question I have, one that has bothered me quite a bit over the years, and quite a lot right now ...

How do you feel about wearing sleeveless/short-sleeved tops/dresses when you have scars on your arm?

You see, I don't self-harm on my arms anymore, haven't done since not long after I got engaged and started thinking about my wedding dress.

I got some special kind of scar-gel from my dr and used it twice a day, and went to someone who showed me how to apply prescription scar make-up. The pharmacy messed up my prescription and gave me African-American skin-colour make-up, which sadly, due to much stress, I didn't realise until the morning of my wedding, so ... I had to do the best I could with my chief-bridesmaid's cover-up and once the ceremony was over, my flowers were permanently over my arm until the reception, where I had this fun, very-me scarf over my arms ... yeah, a bit of a nightmare! But hey, I got to wear the perfect dress, see the look in my husband's eyes and hear him say how beautiful he thought I was and if anyone noticed, they never said, so worth it? Yup!! :)

So now, over a year since I last created a scar on my arm, they have gone from red to white, but are still quite raised. I am trying to work towards being less self-conscious about it but ... still worry that the scars are glaringly obvious to everyone else. My amazing husband, who's wonderfully supportive in every way, has sight issues, so has admitted that he really isn't a good gauge of wether or not my scars are easily visible. He can feel them and knows they're there, but can't quite see them now, although he could a few months ago.

I'm trying to practice walking through the supermarket or mall with my long sleeves pushed up to my elbows, so kind of half covering, but still safe for me. I haven't noticed anyone staring at me, but it's very anonymous - will friends who I'm sitting next to and talking to for a while notice?

Am I just being over-paranoid?

I would really value any comments you have on this topic - thank you so much!

The Celestial Companion

Still, courage, my friend.
Still, all is not lost and you are not yet done.
Still, there are fires to burn in the darkness and light to cast amongst the shadows.
Still, there are moments that must be taken, fighting and spitting to the ground.
Still, nothing has killed us yet.
Still, the sky smiles on the brave.
Still, have the strength to try and hold the sun in the palm of your hand, once more.
Still, ever burning.
Still, the most beautiful things come from beneath the ground.
Still, the light is cast from the darkest of places.
Still, we labour on under the cover of stars.
Still, we know the truth rides high in our chests.
Still, the world has yet to end, no matter how hard any of us try.
Still.
Until we are still.

Crappy Day

I heard on the news on a music radio station that Jaycee Lee Dugard's captors were sentenced to 467 years between them.

The hubby asked what it was about and, as I have read and seen quite a bit about the story, I filled him in and told him all about it.

The final item of crap in a crap-filled day.

I've had a bad day.

First, I woke up with the all-too-familiar realisation that I'd drunk too much last night.

After helping hubby get out the door (whole 'nother story, suffice to say he needs lots of support right now), I fell asleep and woke up at 20 minute to - just enough time to get washed, brushed and dressed and make it to my therapy appointment at 10 ... glancing at the clock while grabbing some coffee I noticed that, yup, it was 20 to 11, not 20 to 10!! Ahh!! And I have been so very strict with myself at not missing a single therapy appointment since I started this latest therapy in January.

Why is it that something that last week caused me to go into mind-numbing-I-can-only-moan-and-whimper-in-pain-and-sleep-for-three-hours, now makes me angry at myself when I miss a session?!?

Then my stomach has not been happy with me today (hmm, no clue why that might be ...).

And now it's that time of the month and I have really bad cramps in lower stomach and back - something I haven't had for the last 3 or so years ... ok, so maybe because for a lot of that time there was a significant lack of a menstrul cycle ... not impressed that the cramps have returned.

So by the end of today, when I'd been thinking too much about too many sh*tty things, including how messed up my family-of-origin is and how much I want my siblings to enjoy being the amazing aunts I know they would be when I have kids and that I want to be able to tell The Mother that she's going to be a grandma with no regrets ... but in reality, I know that the day I find out I'm pregnant, a new stage of this nightmare will begin.

You see, I've never confronted The Father about the abuse. Whether or not he's pretending he didn't do it and would never dream of admitting it, or whether he has managed to put it in a box and firmly shut the lid, concentrating on being the wonderful, wise, insightful, highly religious and devoted father that he fools everyone into beliving he is ... I don't know. Either way, he tries to act toward me like nothing ever happened.

I know that to many, many people, it is highly astounding that I have not cut my family off entirely. There is one huge reason why I haven't done that, even thought I have desperately want to and continue to long to do so at times.

I love my sisters very much. I care about them and their welfare. I can see all the abuse (not sexual in their case, but emotional, spirtual, physcological and financel) that they have been through with me, but they can't. I consoled myself when I moved out of that house and caused them a huge amount of pain and hurt, with promising myself that I was going to help them see the truth and get out one day, or at least to know some people their own age and were not people that simply worshiped The Father's religious ideals.

So my very real love for my sisters (formed through 21 years of being homeschooled, churched-at-home, having hardly any other friends and living in the same space 24/7 - we were absolutely everything to each other) and deep concern for their welfare, is what makes me hold on so tightly to keeping in contact with my family. Not an option 'till they tell me to my face that they never want to see or hear from me again. I pray that day never comes.

So how on earth amd I ever going to be able to explain to my siblings why The Father is not allowed to even TOUCH my kids?!? I don't want him holding them as babies or older, or holding their hand on a walk, or touching them to clean their face after dinner ... yuk!! It makes me feel sick just to think about it!

So as soon as the day (hopefully) comes when the hubby and I know we're going to have a child, that's the day we're going to have to confront The Father and tell him exactly where the lines are and what will happen if he crosses them.

And then what will happen?