Why am I so unstable?

I accomplished something today.

Then it all went downhill from there.

I was sitting in a coffee shop before my therapy appointment.  I looked up from the table and noticed a vehicle parked right outside.  The vehicle was the exact same make and model of my family’s vehicle, the same color, everything.  I immediately went into panic mode, put my head down and hid behind my bag.  I closed my eyes, as if that would protect me from anyone seeing who I really was.  I started talking to myself, trying to rationalize with my logical half that the likelihood that this was in fact my family was just too small.  But my panic wouldn’t have it.

I sat there for five minutes struggling to breathe, wanting to crawl inside myself and hide.  Continuing the conversation with myself, I eventually arrived at the logical conclusion to look at the license plate.  I peeked out from my self-made protective cocoon to make out the last half of the plate, and realized that it was not the same vehicle.  Then I started to calm myself down.  I brought myself back from an episode of panic.  It may have taken some time, but I did it.

Then I went to therapy.  I was still a little shaken up from the prior incident and I told her that, but I also told her how I managed to overcome what could have turned into a disaster.  Then I talked about my incident on the bus the other day.  Then I’m not sure where the conversation went because I don’t remember much after that.

Apparently I dissociated.  I really wish I could know when the hell it’s going to happen.  I really wish I could know what happens.  I came back to my therapist sitting next to me, holding my hands and asking if I was me.  Of course I was me, who else would I be?  Then I asked her what happened.  She asked me if I remembered anything.  I didn’t.  My memory sucks in general.  I don’t even remember what I typed at the beginning of this post.  Then she told me what happened.  How the tone in my voice changed.  How she had to hold my hands down because I kept trying to hurt myself.  How I resisted her holding me.  There was clearly an angry part of me that decided to show up today.  I wish it didn’t.  Now all I feel is embarrassment over how I acted.  Part of me doesn’t even want to go back to therapy.  Then part of me is wondering what else I have done to people and I don’t even remember doing it.

There’s no more room for doubts now.  My therapist began asking about how I viewed my parts, if I had named them, etc.  I turned my head away and tried to hold back tears.  She asked me what was going through my head, and all I could say was “I don’t want to be crazy.”  I think she may forbid me from using that “c” word from now on.  I use it a lot.  She said a lot of reassuring things, but it was difficult for me to take.  She told these parts are what helped me survive. They helped keep me alive. I don’t know. This whole diagnosis is hard for me to accept.  I need time.

3 thoughts on “Why am I so unstable?

  1. Clusterfuck is a good word, a great word really, to describe how it feels when everything seems to come all it once. The world turns too fast.
    So hard, all that you are struggling with. I’m sorry for that, that you should have to. I think it’s a very very good idea to try not to use the word crazy, but use compassion and understanding. That someone has injured you to such a level, means you deserve all the gentleness, softness and support there is and that is possible.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your parts, every one of them, are wonderful. They made it possible for you to survive through an unbelievable situation. They have loved and protected you. It’s not crazy at all–it’s an absolute wonder of the human brain that it’s able to do this in the face of severe trauma. Then once the danger is past, the work is in shifting to a different relationship with those parts. I’m sure you know this. Perhaps I am just writing it for any future reader who reads this page and is at this same stage herself, wondering if there is something wrong with her.

    Liked by 1 person

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