WHY??

I now know why I had trouble writing the last few days. Every time I tried to type words my fingers refused to cooperate. I would look at the screen and the only word staring back at me was a big WHY with a BOLD question mark.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? 

Why have I slipped again? Why has this addiction become a center of my life again? Why have things changed since last week when I was strong? Why a few days ago was I able to resist? Why am I so drawn to this? Why won't it go away and leave me alone?

So many questions and no answers.

I am slipping tumbling down a slide, to fast, to hard. I try grab onto the edge to gain stability. I want to slow down. All I receive is a painful friction burn.

I'm scared actually I'm terrified. Fear has a grip so tight it has paralyzed my heart. I can't do this again. I don't know if I have any fighting power left in me. 

On the outside I appear to be the typical young married kollel wife with a 4 month old infant. Inside I am a war-zone full of darts and swords. These two sides of me are constantly wrestling with one another fighting to win. How much longer can I continue living a double life?

How much longer can I continue hiding this from my husband, my family, my friends. I don't know how much longer I can survive the blade of the giant chainsaw that is splitting my body into two.

I want my life back the one I've had the last few months the peace, the tranquility, the happiness, the laughter, the joy. I don't want to return to a life of struggles, of wars, of screams, and pain.

I knew if I didn't deal with this addiction it would return. I thought if I could ignore all the warning signs I could pretend it wasn't there.

I was wrong it lay simmering underground like a bubbling volcano. Lying in wait for the perfect moment to erupt. And now it has exploded hard and fast with no intention of calming down.

What do u do when a volcano erupts? Is there any way to stop the deadly lava? Any way to outrun the blast?

What do I do now? Where do I go from here??? 

More questions I don't have answers for. Some days I just wish I could disappear.

Writer's block

Walking the tightrope

Do you ever feel like your walking a tightrope?

Perhaps the tightrope in your life is the thin taut line between peace or chaos, hope or despair, safety or danger. Perhaps your tightrope is the line between knowing when to provide for your children or when to allow them to be independent, bonding with your child or being over protective.

I have never walked across a tightrope. I imagine the feeling. The first few baby steps. The fear of falling, shaking, trembling with excitement. The rope rebels, shivering underneath you. Arms flail. Willing yourself not to look down. Teetering on the edge. Desperate to find the delicate balance. The rope suddenly seems so long.

Somewhere in the middle you become aware that your feet have become one with the rope. Your body in perfect harmony. Steady arms. Light steps. Confident. The rope now seems short.

You reach your goal safely. You look back and realize the rope never became firmer. You relaxed, gained confidence were able to cross with ease. You feel empowered, courageous. Eventually the rope holds no attraction, it no longer poses a challenge, there is no risk. You raise the rope higher a need to satisfy the thrill seeker within you.

I have a tightrope in my life. The name of my tightrope is religion.

My three older siblings are religious. They believe in God follow the Torah and its laws. I imagine their spiritual world a mountain. Covered in beautiful wild flowers. Fresh air . Sweet smelling scent. The climb tough. The goal rewarding, priceless.

My three younger siblings are no longer religious. I think they still believe in God but they have left the path of the Torah. I imagine their spiritual world as a murky river. Snaking its way deep in a valley. Muddy waters. A swim might feel refreshing but soon leaves you suffocating, gasping for air.

Like my position in the middle of the family I feel like I am walking on a tightrope between these two worlds. Somewhere on my tightrope their two worlds merge creating a space of turmoil, uncertainty, and hostility.

Some days I walk across the tightrope I feel like God is lifting me. Walking on air. My body light, weightless. I almost dance my way across. The journey is effortless the view is beautiful, pretty. I walk with confidence.

Some days the rope seems jagged, frayed. I walk alone on the edge. A precarious balance.  I see shiny treasures buried in the river beneath me. Enticing me. From up here they appear shiny, glistening in the grey water below. Its only once you have dived in you realize it is all an illusion. The gold fake. The treasure worthless.

I need to choose a world. A world I can belong in. A world where the doubt and  confusion disappears. 

In my heart I know which world will leave me empty, my life worthless. Deep down I know which world will leave me fulfilled, my existence meaningful.

Yet I am still standing here on this tightrope. Conflicted.

Sleep deprivation

I am now experiencing the joy of a mother with a child who refuses to sleep. This week, last week, next week all seem to have melted into one long never ending day. There are mornings I get up not sure which day I am greeting. I see the world around me in a haze.

I jump into an icy cold shower hoping it will lift the fog I see through my partially closed eyes. Not a coffee drinker so no help there.

My head heavy as a brick only sheer willpower preventing me from collapsing to the ground into blissful sleep.

I hear sounds of a hungry baby I rush to my daughter as fast as my sleep deprived body will allow me. I feel my baby's squirming little body relax against mine as I feed her. Her breathing deepens, her eyes close, ever so gently I carry her to the crib. 

I lie in my bed beside her mind racing I know I am missing something today possibly an important appointment. The piece of information is lodged in the corner of my mind just out of reach, taunting me. I give up the struggle, let it go, I do not have the strength to capture the thought.

My brain surrenders I am drifting off to sleep I hear a small whimper. I am instantly alert the whimpers now turn into cries. I pick my daughter up hold her close she rests peacefully her small head burrowed into my shoulder. I feel the rhythm of her heart beating against mine I talk soft words she does not understand my voice soothing her.

As she dreams I read the latest news on our computer the words do not register. My mind only accepts the knowledge necessary for its survival.

As I swaddle my baby in her favorite pink bunny rug I pray. I pray for sleep, I pray for sanity, I beg rest for my burning weighted eyes.

Not even ten minutes later I see two chubby legs waving in the air. I look over at my daughter she smiles I smile back at her. I manage to grab a camera and record her adorable squeals as she informs me in baby babble of all the reasons she is not interested in staying on the crib. These are the moments I live for. Moments of pure love and pride I know it is all worth it.

My family and friends will watch the video and see only her cuteness. One day I to will look back and only remember the joy as I took the video without the desperation I now feel for sleep. I need sleep!!

The First Shabbat

As the week ends and Shabbat approaches I find myself thinking of an inspiring story my husband shared with me. The story of his first Shabbat.

My husband was raised in a non religious home. Attended a non religious school. He believed in God but practised little of the Torah's laws. As he approached his 13th Birthday in honour of his Bar Mitzva he decided to accept upon himself one Mitzva. He would no longer eat Non Kosher meat.

The first giant step on the journey to becoming the man he is today.

As a young teenager he travelled to Israel with is father. There he witnessed the joy of the religious people celebrating Shabbat and his soul yearned to be a part of it.

Back home he went to speak to the Rabbi at his school. He expressed his concern on losing the money he earned by working in his father shop on Shabbat. The Rabbi told him if he observed Shabbat God would find a way to give him the money elsewhere. Sure enough that very same week his father decided to keep the shop open late on Thursday nights. During those two hours he received  the same pay as working an entire day on Saturday.

His first Shabbat. A quiet day spent in his bedroom alone. He worried by leaving his room he might accidentally do something that was not allowed. For 24 hours he read and slept. He did not know any of the laws all he knew was that he wanted to keep Shabbat. No family meal, no wine, no challah, but a day he will always remember.  

As I rush around preparing for Shabbat I look at my husband. I think of him as a little boy, how much he has given up, I know how special this day is to him. I see how far he has come and gain a new appreciation for this holy day.

Moments

We all experience moments on our lives we would rather not be in. Times in our lives that are embarrassing, boring, traumatic. Times that cause us mental discomfort.


We day dream when bored, wish the ground would open up and swallow us when embarrassed, disassociate when traumatized. Our bodies may be physically there but our heads are somewhere else. Our minds have found us an interesting place, a familiar place, a safer place.


The years of my childhood were filled with many traumatic moments. I learnt at a very young age the safest way to ensure the least pain was to disassociate. It wasn't a consciouses decision it happened naturally and became an important part of my survival. 


As I got older I found I could turn it on at ease. Moments when my mother was giving one of her never ending lectures on how terrible we were. Moments when she would tell our friends that we were worthless and forbid us to talk to them. Moments when her rage controlled her and she slapped, kicked, and beat us until she tired out. Getting in touch with the anger, the shame, the guilt only created more pain.


But it's the moments filled with emotions that I vividly remember. The first teacher who took me aside and told me she believed in me. The first time I stayed at a friends house and saw the meaning of a loving family. The first time someone did something for me just because they cared. It is these moments that stand out the most.


While turning off my emotions has always been easy turning them on is so much harder. There were days that I would walk around completely numb an empty hole in my heart where my feelings should reside. It was like my heart has been encased in an impenetrable glass box. The self harm started because I needed something intense to break though those walls of glass imprisoning me. I wanted to feel and pain seemed a better option then numbness.


When the glass box would shatter my emotions would break free and overwhelm me. They seemed to be magnified and to much to bear. So again I would turn to the self harm to help me reign in my feelings and make them more manageable. It was a never ending cycle.

Now I am a mother I need to be able to carefully open the glass box of my emotions. I want to feel the unlimited love for my baby, the pain when she is hurt, the pride in her progress.

Day by day my daughter is slowly teaching me to get in touch with my feelings without letting them destroy me.

Communication with my parents

"I have a box of your brothers stuff which I will leave outside your apartment this week. Do You have room for his bike?"

This is the message my husband received today on torn piece of cardboard. The note was given to him by my father.  

Our reply via email.

''I'm sorry we do not have space to store his stuff in our apartment. Please do not leave it on our doorstep. If we find it there we will have to return it.

This is the first communication we have had with my parents since I gave birth.

This is the email I would have liked to send instead.

Dear Aba and Mummy,

This is the first message you chose to send us three months after we had a baby. A scrap of paper letting us know you want to rid yourself of any reminders that you once had children. Sons and daughters you once claimed to love. 
Where is the mazel tov? Where is the need to know how your new grandchild is doing? Do you not care? Do you really think you can pretend you never had children?

Do you know I started laughing when your son in law brought this note home to me? It was not a laughter of joy, but a laughter of pain. What other reaction would be suitable for such an occasion? Cry? The tears have dried up a long time ago.

Do you believe that eliminating all signs that we once lived in your house will help you forget us?

I pray everyday that I can wipe away the past. Yet I plagued by nightmares and filled with memories. Memories that make me wish I could forget my childhood. Nightmares that leave me shaking in fear.

Yet for some reason I can't understand somewhere deep inside me I still have a dream. A dream that things can be different. A dream that my daughter can have grandparents who will love and care for her. A dream I still cling to even though I am aware will never happen.

In reality I know it is not a dream but a fantasy. 

Sarah.

A reason to write

I came across this online today and found it very appropriate.

"The truth is, in order to heal we need to tell our stories and have them witnessed...The story itself becomes a vessel that holds us up, that sustains, that allows us to order our jumbled experiences into meaning.

As I told my stories of fear, awakening, struggle, and transformation and had them received, heard, and validated by other women, I found healing.

I also needed to hear other women's stories in order to see and embrace my own. Sometimes another woman's story becomes a mirror that shows me a self I haven't seen before. When I listen to her tell it, her experience quickens and clarifies my own. Her questions rouse mine. Her conflicts illumine my conflicts. Her resolutions call forth my hope. Her strengths summon my strengths. All of this can happen even when our stories and our lives are very different."

-Sue Monk Kidd-

Therapy History

I have decided to go back to therapy. Which brings to mind the different therapists I have met over the years.

Therapist #1: Family Friend
Round and round and round and round in circles. That is all I really remember about her. We never got anywhere! She thought I was screwed up and let me know. I thought she was incompetent but I didn't go ahead and tell her that. After a few weeks my husband begged me to please stop going to her as I was coming home more depressed then when I left.


Therapist #2: Holistic Healer
One of those therapists that work by balancing and aligning the body's natural energy.  

Her: Close your eyes and imagine giving your mother flowers.
Me: (thinking what on earth have I gotten myself into.) I wouldn't do that in real life why should I do it in my imagination?

Her: I need to feel your energy levels while you do this.

Me Ok......so what do u see?

Her: This is not working let us try something else.

I lie down she gives me a massage on special energy points in my body. (Now this is great but I wonder how this is helping) Meanwhile she is instructing me what I'm supposed to be thinking about and I'm desperately trying hard not to fall asleep and start snoring. After 10 sessions she told me I was 50% less depressed. I felt like one of those Sims characters with those green bubbles over my head showing 50% healed.

Therapist #3: Telatherapy
Really great to be able to do therapy while lying on your bed in pyjamas. But if you're like me and happen to very depressed one Sunday morning. Your therapist who can't see you but can only judge by the tone of your voice and thinks you could be suicidal hatzolah could be knocking on your door with only 5 min's notice. To be fair I was feeling horrible and in hindsight I did thank him for probably saving my life but at the time I was fuming mad at him! There was the hatzolah guys threatening to bang my door down if I wouldn't open it and there I was standing on the other side looking like a wreck since I had been throwing up all morning still in my pyjamas! And then they wouldn't leave until my sister who had come over begged them to go.


Therapist #4: Sign reader

She read into everything I did if I twitched it was sign if I moved my leg another sign. One week I left my rings at home and oh my gosh that was a big sign! We spent the whole session discussing what it might signify about my marriage. Even after I repeatedly told her I was always misplacing my stuff. My husband who is always running around the house to find them (something that drives him nuts) happened to not be home before I left.

Therapist #5:

For some reason I couldn't talk with him still not sure of the reason for that. This was a typical conversation with him.
Him: So what are you thinking about?
Me: I don't know
Him: How can you not know whats going on in your own mind.
Me: I don't know??
silence.........

When I told him that I taught High school for a year I think he almost fell of his chair in shock. He could not imagine this mute person sitting across from him giving a lesson to a group of 16 year olds. It did improve minutely over the weeks.But although we did'nt do much talking his support through the last few weeks of my pregnancy helped keep my sanity.

I have decided that finding a good therapist is like buying a pair of shoes you need to find one that is comfortable and fits well. And then the hard work begins......

On addiction

There is a lot I can say about addiction. What ever the addiction is it can get to a point where it literally can take over your mind, your body, your life. All you are able to think about is how soon are you able to next engage in the destructive behaviour.

It is a scary place to be in the cravings, the urges the need to fulfill  the intense desire.

Although I am not battling with my addiction at the moment there are constant triggers that remind me of the cravings and each time it is a struggle to resist. Every time I am tempted to lose the battle and surrender I read this poem I wrote a while back.  I look at my daughter and know I need to win.

The trigger is pulled

the weights lowered

crushing

full

of my mistakes

parts of me I know exist

memories

I cannot forget

immense pressure

forced

to cower in fear

frightened

the addiction

overwhelms me

takes over my senses

I try to search

to reach

looking for strength

to hold

I lose control

give in

addicted

I have failed

The trigger is been pulled again

the weights lowered

heavy

full

of past mistakes

parts of me

I wish did not exist

memories

I struggle to forget

irresistible pull

forced

to bend in fear

afraid

it will overwhelm me

take over my senses

I search deep

for love

grab onto it

hold it

light as a feather

it gives me strength

to stand again

gain control

I have succeeded