Dream-Like, or Nightmare

I woke very early this morning–somewhere around 3:15 a.m. No particular reason; just awoke. I read a bit in Deserts and Mountains, took a shower, wrote in my morning pages book (have been neglecting writing my book, however). I felt a bit tired earlier in the day–it’s 11 a.m. now–but feel like I’m drifting a bit. I’ve been reading on and off in a couple of books. I posted some quotes in my other blog. I opened packages. I love my dog. I need to get ready to go to Juma’ in a bit. I need to get out.

I tried to call the girls earlier and see if maybe they wanted to do something with me tonight for New Year’s Eve–go to a movie or watch a movie at home, or play a game or something. But I got no answer at their house.

In an attempt to make amends for my harsh email of last Saturday, I sent Sabrina an email about going to our therapy session with John on Tuesday. I haven’t heard from her in over a week, by email, text, phone–nothing. How do I feel about that? Sad. Sad, but not despairing. I am tired of trying and trying to meet her more than half-way and getting no where. I wish I knew what I did to deserve this treatment. Other people (even my doctors) can’t believe she is like this. Nothing surprises me from her anymore, I don’t feel like I have a daughter anymore; I am just a person alone with myself. In a way, it’s freeing. I don’t have to try anymore. But it is sad. It’s like a death; like I’ve lost my daughter at sea. But I do care, for all my saying that I don’t care anymore. I do feel rejected and abandoned, unloved by the person I most love.

There doesn’t seem to be anything that I can do. I feel so helpless about this whole situation. Would it help if i were a more enlightened individual? Will my depression EVER get better? Will it EVER go away, even a little bit? I don’t think so, as much as I try to focus on other things. Tears well up in my eyes, and I mourn for my daughter for whom I held so much promise and hope. Will my granddaughters turn on me the same way? I don’t see how they can avoid it, seeing their mother and the way she acts (or doesn’t act) toward me.

As I write, suicidal thought come to me unbidden. I feel I am not worthy of living if I can’t even manage to be a mother of an adult child. The rejection is so painful as to be unbearable. I keep trying to carry on a normal life, emailing friends, reading, writing, but when I write and think, that is when things become very, very dark indeed.

I have started to read a book on happiness by the Dalai Lama. And my sister is correct; happiness must come from within. But outside circumstances influence the state of happiness. How can I be happy if I am an outcast from my own family.

For the second time in a week, I feel as though I am compelled to write a suicide note. I don’t want to go out, to see anyone. I want only to go to sleep and not wake up. The only thing that keeps me from acting on my thought is my little dog. He is the only thing I care about at the moment. What would happen to him? Clint hates dogs; Ernie might be mistreated. I could give him to Theresa, but then she would know something is wrong, and he would be so confused. I would want to take him to the Otherworld with me so he would be with me and not scared.

I seem to be writing nonsense. I can’t see Dr. S until Monday. Three more days of this torture. Why? WHY? WHY is she doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this? This is worse even than August. At least I understood her anger with me then. I understand absolutely nothing now.

About mairedubhtx

I am a "youngish" grandmother of 15 year old twin granddaughter who has recently (is a year "recent"?) adopted Islam as my way of life, much to the consternation of my family. I love to read. I love to write. I am writing a book about my decision to revert, about my spiritual journey. I have another blog about stories from my youth, my parents, and grandparents. It's a blog so my OCD daughter will not be able to throw it out when I die. I suffer from depression and anxiety, for which I am treated, so my posts may be a bit dark at times. C'est la vie.
This entry was posted in agorophia, being with people, books, darkness, daughter, depression, despair, dog, early rising, Ernie, fear, granddaughters, love, morning pages, my writing, outcast, psychiatrist, reading, rejection, relationship issues, sadness, suicidal, suicide, therapy, writing a book and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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