Here Space

 I know I am not lazy. That isn't what traps me in this space of non-action. I started questioning if it is non-action, or is my mind finally giving me the green light to rest, or spend time recovering. Stitching my wounds in the darkness. I started checking myself for open wounds and scarring. What has healed over? What is infected? Last night during a phone conversation, my wounds revealed themselves to me. My unhealed areas became obvious when I lost my voice and started crying. I know suffering and abuse. I know abandonment and deception. Many times yesterday I was reminded where I came from. It is an undercurrent that keeps pulling me towards it. 

I was walking through a marketing campaign with a friend of mine. It's regarding a subject I know a bit about and that is where I realized deep wounds were. I have overdosed. I have been on hard drugs. I've lived in the underbelly of Hot Springs with crime and drugs for the first part of my life, which became the gateway for battle in my teen years, succumbing in my early 20s, then the darkness taking over me. This new campaign is to arm people with a product to stop an overdose in progress. The worst county in the state? Garland. My young life, where all of the trauma resides. I have heard the other voices that say "Don't save the drug addicts, let them die."

I shot up meth as a teenager. I detoxed while pregnant in a girl's home I had placed myself in after emancipating myself. Which wasn't hard, given that I had spent my younger years in abuse, my teenage years in shelters, foster homes and crashing where I could. Now I was 17 pregnant and knew I neither of use would survive this place. I got us out. That should of been it right? I dealt with abuse, I did everything in my power to put myself and child in a better home. So why did I try to kill myself in my early 20's? I was haunted. It's those ghosts in the closet. I thought I had made my peace with them. Until my teenage years started haunting me and I wasn't even aware of it. Last night, my anger became apparent in my conversation.

I revisited my last couple of therapy sessions I had last year, before I called it quits. My friends know everything, so I don't have to rely on my perception. What sticks in my memory are always interesting to me. I take in more than what is being said usually. I realize that is because of my PTS and ADHD now. I hear what is being said, but I have to have time to process it. It has taken me a bit to try to understand what was happening and now I see this was just a scam to try to take down a doctor. My mental health was never important it felt. In the moments that the focus wasn't on my healing and on the drama at the clinic that I didn't need to be privy to, I just decided to walk away. Talking about all of this last night brought up the old wounds of feeling discarded, not important, an instrument to be used for other's gain. 

Growing up poor, I realized pretty quick that if you were poor, you were expendable. You didn't matter to anyone and everyone got the green light to abuse you. There were some teachers in the school system that noticed. Thinking about the time I was beaten so badly I could barely walk and covered in bruises and was put in another foster home. My life of experiences has shown me the real ugly side of humans. Perhaps it has skewed my opinion of people. Not perhaps, yes, it absolutely has. And if this perception weren't constantly validated, I wouldn't still fucking have it now would I? 

When my psych clinic's owner showed up on my Facebook page asking if "This doctor mistreated you," it hit me in the gut. It's common to be treated poorly if you are mental illness and poor. I read through the comments, yep, this is typical. Why do you think people just overdose? There is no help out there. People fly the banner of help under a lot of words, church, therapy, coaching - all ways of gaining money, power or access to take everything from you, even if it is the last bit of trust you had. That is why it hurt me so deep. This therapist was intentionally undermining the clinic from within, didn't care about my wellbeing and made me ask "Am I safe here?" After I asked that, that was enough for me to know I wasn't doing therapy here anymore. She was trying to undermine the trust I had built in my medicine man. If I had listened to what she was saying, and dropping all the clues for, I might of realized some things a bit quicker. I didn't have the energy. Can't you assholes see I AM trying to heal here? That was just it, I was making the effort to get better, but I didn't matter. Why did I matter? I don't matter to anyone but me and the closest people to me. And only now do I trust the people closest to me because I removed the peopled I didn't. I am being slapped across the face, then punched in the gut again with all this. 

No one can change my perception, no. I can, yes, but why do I have this perception? I strung together all the incidents, things said to me, how I was treated on the phone, emails ignored, and dismissed. It has almost been a reminder NOT to trust. So what does a person do when they are poor, wounded and trying to get help, but keep getting knocked down. The burning hypocrisy is this banner claiming "It is disheartening to see how people are treated" - especially since I am the one treating them this way. I think about the therapist prior, who told me to get an attorney. I was terrified. How does it feel to have someone rush in and threaten you with jail time? How does it feel to know people who don't really know you are trying to take you down? This all continuously plays out on a much larger scale. Betrayal, greed, fear, hatred, lust - all the things that fight against loyalty, generosity, love and desire for chastity. 

The other vein of hypocrisy pumping my blood faster, knowing my intentions and knowing I am being misunderstood. I can't change their perception. They have it for a reason. Or, do they? Have I just been disregarded because I am a poor female that serves no purpose. Throw her into the pile with the rest. This world has shown me I don't matter. I stood up and said I do. And I have time and fucking time again. We do ask for help. We don't often get it. All this has created this space of "what fucking ever" for me.  It's not laziness, it's exhaustion. Because, here, once again, I trying to plot a course on this map, trying to avoid the pack of demons. I'm skulking around the perimeter, gathering intel, avoiding battle if I don't have to. My health is low and I need to save my fighting strength for the big boss battles. 

This is the space and these are all the things leading me to this space. Rest, but don't loose too much time on it. Create, but not to the point of exhaustion. Work on your temperament. I can't tell if I am trying to catch my balance, or I am balanced and trying to integrate into the space.