Last week I told Dr. Mind that I was feeling so much better that after he returned from a trip next week I wanted to go back to sexual abuse, that I felt I could handle it now (a few months ago it turned into massive PTSD with severe anxiety and depression that required us to kick into "prevent crisis that is rapidly approaching" mode). He was non-committal, saying I might not be as ready as I thought. I then proceeded to talk about how I felt like I know now that the whole thing was a process. Whether the hospital created PTSD or just inflamed it, it definetely left me more open. Then when I saw stupid urologist and she pretty much yelled at me for wanting things totally in line with the trauma I've experienced (without bothering to find out what that trauma was) and it turned out that the test she was yelling about wasn't something I needed and a simple exam and a little kindness could have revealed that. It was hard enough for me to accept that I experienced SEVERE sexual abuse and it wasn't until I typed a simple list of "this is what happened" in bullet points, then watched Dr. Mind react that I realized it was bad. And then discussing it with him let )me understand things I'd never had knowledge to understand before (therapy turned into learn-more-than-the-basics-about-sex-ed), and then when work got awful that was too much entirely. So I retreated, and was left hanging on some things. One question I am desperate to ask, namely if this and this and this happened why was I not raped, and I think the diagnosis of vaginisimus probably explains that. Let's just say that diagnosis explained a lot, but I need to talk more and get more information from him. And reassurance. I thought I was ready, but then last weekend I realized I wasn't. I either had a lot of anxiety or a nightmare or something told me not yet.
But what I just realized? I have to instead deal with something that makes me hate myself. Before you say it is understandable or normal in this situation, thanks but it's not making me feel better to know that.
My sister's baby is due in 7 weeks. That means that within the next 4-9 weeks I'm going to be presented with this tiny little baby who I love so much already and yet I'm starting to realize the baby does one thing more than anything else to me: I cry. I am so sad for myself. Not that this lessens my happiness for my sister and her husband, and not that I will love the baby less, but as I'm sitting here finishing shower gifts I've been sewing for the past 6 months I am suddenly realizing that I am so jealous I can't stand it. And I am so angry because I am pouting. I am having a really hard time knowing my sister went through some to most of what I did, survived some parts that I didn't have to because I was in college, and honestly I don't know what happened to her. I know from discussions we've had and that I've had comparing notes with cousins that my grandfather had 3 categories. There were 3 of us that he sexually abused severely. Then there were others he tried it once or twice and then some he never touched. My sister is in group 2; I'm in group one. She didn't ever live what what has been for me probably the worst part of what he did: horrible threats that caused all kinds of scars. I'm beating those scars; one of my achievements this year is that I can go in my basement without having the lights on, even when it's dim and I can spend time there without anxiety, because when I was small he took me to the back of an unfinished, dark, smelly basement and told me if I told what he was doing he would lock my mother up in that room, or he'd leave me alone there and nobody would ever find me. However, I have no clue what happened with my father and sister. I have no memories that help me know.
But essentially we lived through a very difficult childhood, together, and I'm left with feelings that make me sound/feel horrible, yet are just the way it is. The closer the day I'm going to hold that baby and start to love it the more I resent my sister's life. I don't resent her at all, although I'm horribly, embarrassingly jealous of her.
I am so angry, angry beyond all belief or my ability to explain, that I wound up with so many consequences from what happened to me, and that whether she just was less abused than I was or she didn't have the bipolar genes or she was stronger than I am, she gets to have the opposite of what I have. When Dr. Mind wrote my insurance appeal recently one of the things he included as justification for increasing sessions when I am really ill (besides that after years of working together we know what works) was that my support system is mostly limited to him, my pyschiatrist, and my family doctor. He obviously doesn't know about my internets, but still. That's not much to say for a life of 34 years. But it is true. I do not have friends, at least not any that are normal. I don't have normal family relationships. I don't have normal friends. My illness and messed-upness keep my life so far from normal.
And yet my sister came from the same gene pool, grew up with the same people I did (although with fewer years of exposure to my grandfather), survived a relationship with my father longer than I did, and came out of it able to function in society. She has friends, a strong marriage, almost a new baby, she's achieved the educational goals I once had for myself, she has many interests and knows tons. For me I have a job that is most of my life, a number of mental illnesses which are the only thing I know a ton about that others don't, a myriad of medication allergies, and a general lack of interest in having a real relationship because I don't want to work that hard (and usually hard work isn't an issue for me), and even if I did manage to go through all that marriage would involve (and the treatment for that problem I mentioned above with the link; let's just say you want to be very committed before you go through that) I couldn't have a baby. Not to mention that I'm getting to be past the prime age to even think about it. If I got pregnant today I'd be considered a higher risk pregnancy because I'd be 35 when I delivered.
So anyway, the truth is: I am a very, very jealous person and I have very little time to figure out how to handle my sister's happiness without showing my sadness to anyone.
And with that I must stop the crying and get ready for bed. Tomorrow is Dr. Brain day, plus a couple errands. Yippee.
(In all fairness to myself I had a stressful afternoon where the directions to a patient's house were very, very wrong and I had to cancel the visit totally and I wasted a huge amount of time being lost. IT wasn't fun. Plus I have painfully tight back muscles still, and well, things just really hit. 7 weeks doesn't seem long enough to get over this............)