Tag Archive | anxiety

I don’t wanna go on with you like that 💛

No one is going to dull my sparkle! Still shining ✨️ 💛

But I don’t wana go on with you like that
It gets so hard sometimes to understand
This vicious circle’s getting out of hand
Don’t need an extra eye to see
That the fire spreads faster in a breeze 🖤

I Don’t Wanna Go On With You Like That- Elton John 🖤

This is the version of this post that I’ll probably share on Facebook. I have a much longer version for this blog. But, for now, I will share this shorter version (still super long).

I shared this on here before, but I later removed the post out of concern that certain people may see it. I think the post is called “I don’t wanna go on with you like that.” Elton John! It’s back in my drafts, and I considered publishing it again. But, I’ll share this instead and name it after the original. Lol

When I posted it last year, I was in a darker place. I had no idea what to do. This year, I’m in a much better and productive headspace. Back then, I was depressed.

Also, there was something slightly identifying in some of my screenshots. Someone would have to do some serious sleuthing to do anything with it, but still. Lol

I don’t want anyone to be able to contact my “family” who this is about.



I have been carrying something heavy that no one knows.

Multiple occasions, I tried to share this and just couldn’t bring myself. But I can’t keep it inside anymore.

I finally asked for help and feel a weight has been lifted off of my whole body. I did not even realize how heavy it was until it lifted.

I am so happy and light, it’s just amazing. I knew to an extent how much suffering alone was affecting me, but not just how much until I finally reached out for help.

I haven’t even received help yet and already feel a sense of being empowered, just at the prospect. And I did have the opportunity to share my experience with a professional person before I visit in person.

My appointment is later this month.

There was a point, just a year ago, where I felt this situation was not compatible with life. And, if you read this, you’ll understand why.

I want my side out there. I want my voice heard.

I feared that if I shared this, people may see it as a reflection of me, like if someone is doing this to me there must be a reason for it. Like maybe I deserve it. Because who would do this to someone for literally no reason? It’s not uncommon for people to think if we are the target of abuse or assault, we did something to “deserve” it. But that’s not the case. No one deserves this.

I am being badly abused. Every day. It has been going on for years. There are almost no breaks.

I live with severe domestic violence, and no one knows it but me.

Last year, it reached the point where I can no longer cope. I can’t go it alone anymore. I called the National Domestic abuse hotline last Summer, and it was AI. Not a person. And it wouldn’t help me because I’m not abused by a romantic partner. As if that’s the only abuse that’s valid.

It was extremely disheartening to call for help and not only not be greeted by another human but told by a robot that my experience is not valid. And it told me it would send me a link to resources where I can get help. I clicked the link, and it was a link to their own website with the same number I contacted and was told my experience isn’t valid. What a joke.

I considered calling the suicide hotline, but I feared I would be locked away if they traced my call and tracked my location. I was involuntarily hospitalized years ago for being suicidal. They physically restrained me, took me to Court, and locked me away for weeks against my consent. So, I decided not to call, and continued to suffer alone. Also, my problem wasn’t being suicidal, it was being abused. I wanted help with the origins of the problem, not the side effect of it. I eventually came to handle it better in my mind. But the situation is still toxic.

Life did not used to be like this for me. And I miss when it wasn’t. I miss having a normal life at home. There were always toxic issues. But nothing to this extent.

The worst of it has been going on the last two years. Before that, it was manageable and mostly able to be ignored. I had a happy childhood, full of vacations & camping trips and movies and playgrounds and ice cream and toys. My dad made childhood fun. And my mom took care of me and was, overall, a loving mom (unless she was angry). This is something that escalated through the years.

My mom & sister are violent domestic abusers.

They should be on a list.

I don’t wish negative things on them, but my sister plans to get married in the future and have kids. And every good man (and even potential platonic friends) should be warned. She’s out there.

And she accuses pretty much everyone of rape, even admitted it wasn’t true in some cases. I am sorry for whatever poor bastard gets involved with her. Have fun being falsely accused of rape. Lol

She lied and told my mom she caught me watching rape movies and getting off on it in my bedroom. My mom called me a “sick fuck.” She also posted this on Facebook, said I was getting off on women screaming “Stop” and “No.”

One day, she was awake in her bedroom. I heard her. I was in my bed, watching Pippi Longstocking. And my sister ran down the steps, screaming to my mom that I woke her up blasting a rape movie and traumatized her. My mom was furious and cursing at me.

I realized that after my dad moved out a couple years ago, what he was displaying all these years was mostly reactive abuse. It was a response to my mom’s years long verbal absue of him. He became a monster (mostly to my mom), and I thought it was all him. I forgot through the years what she did to him first, because his reaction to her became so extreme that it overshadowed what she was doing all along, to both of us.

I never knew reactive abuse is a thing until he moved out and I saw what she began doing worse to me, and I began to have the same reactions as he did, after a while, except in my case, they aren’t anywhere near as toxic. When I say something to her about her being wrong, she says “That’s what he always said, you’re just like him, you’re both narcissistic assholes!” Or something of that sort. It hit me that that’s why he was reacting that way all along. Then, coincidentally, not long later, I saw a post about reactive abuse on social media. I get it now. He eventually put her in her place and kept her there. It was the only way to stop her. Then, he looked like the monster.

When he moved out years ago, for five years, she was way worse with me then, too, and I always wondered why for those five years, she was worse with me, instead of happy to be rid of him. Now, I understand, the source of it all was her, and when he moved out, I became the target. Everything he said through the years is now happening worse to me. It always did, just worse now.



He is a toxic person, and much of what he did wasn’t justified. But as soon as he moved out two years ago, she moved right onto me, and I find myself having all the same thoughts he used to say “She comes at me and at me and at me,”

“She twists my words around to make me look bad and then argues with me,” “I’m like a lion in a cage, she just pokes me and pokes me and pokes me until I react and then I’m the bad guy,” “She constantly criticizes me for no reason.” “She constantly makes me do all her shopping.” “She has anger issues.” “She always has negative body language/tone with me for no reason.” “She’s always laughing at me.” (She always accused him of trying to control her movements and expressions and tones, and I thought he was being seriously abusive to her, but since he moved out, and she got worse with me, I see now. He was doing that because she was constantly hostile with him, just like with me. I do the same thing now. I’ll say one simple thing that is valid or reasonable, and she’ll roll her eyes or look at me like I’m disgusting. This takes a toll after a while to where you just get angry about how they’re looking at you and how the animosity seeps through their body language. )

This has been going on much longer than two years, my mom was toxic her whole life, but the worst of it was in the last couple of years. And in these last years, I began to see the whole picture more clearly.

My mom is full of rage & hate. For life itself. And it’s all unleashed onto me because I’m an easy target. The rage radiates off of her. It’s palpable. She screams and yells and curses and stomps around the house day & night, day after day, ranting & raving & raging. She throws things, crumples things up in her hands out of anger, stomps her feet, throws stuff to the floor and stomps it, making these primitive gutteral sounds of fury.

My mom cannot handle anything that is not even remotely criticism. She does Olympic medal level mental gymnastics to reach the conclusion that something is criticism against her. And then she goes off about it. And any mistake she makes is someone else’s fault, usually mine. She forgets where she set her glasses down, and it’s my fault for talking and not paying attention to where she set them. She drops a bag a cashier is handing her, after it’s already in her hand, and it’s the cashier’s fault. One day, that happened, and glass in the bag broke.

She said it was the cashier’s fault for how she handed the bag to my mom (she literally just reached out for her to take it). Then, when we got home and I was upstairs, I heard my mom downstairs telling my sister that the cashier dropped the bag and broke the glass thing my mom bought. She can take no responsibility.

Oh. And she’s a racist, too 🙃


She calls black people N***ers. (I have multiple screenshots), but only to my sister and me. No one else knows she’s a racist. She says women, even married women, who don’t want to become pregnant should “keep their legs closed, the filthy w.hores.”

The blue is my message to my mom. The grey is my mom’s message to me. The word is highlighted because I looked through old messages to find this. She’s been a racist her whole life. I used to call her out on it, but I stopped giving her the satisfaction, and just ignore it now. She liked getting a rise out of me. This message alone should be enough to confirm that my mom is as vile as I say she is. Her and my sister claim that I lie about her, that she’s such a great person and such a great mom. Welp! I’ll just leave this gem right here and let you decide for yourself lol There’s more like this, and ones of her saying women should keep their legs closed if they don’t want to get pregnant. She also called me a d*ke more than once and has referred to a few gay women that way, again, not to their faces, of course. So, yeah.


If you saw her outside, you would never know it. She’s softspoken and sweet and mild mannered-seeming. She says thank you and giggles this fake, sweet, innocent giggle and has people thinking she’s the sweetest little lady.  (She has become so angry, though, that she’s beginning to show it to others, like cashiers she gets angry at).

But within the walls of our house, she’s violent, oppressive, cruel. She screams at the dogs, says the most vicious insults about me. Says our little dog should be put down when she’s mad at him for snapping at our other dog (she’s only saying that out of anger, she wouldn’t really). She is the most vile, putrid woman you could ever meet. Not to quote Donald Trump, but “Nasty woman.” Lol

One of my cousins stopped talking to my mom because my mom lashed out at her with an abusive text message when my cousin did not talk to her that way. My mom is abusive when angry.

None of this is new, it’s just so much more extreme now, that she’s almost unrecognizable compared to what she used to be.

On my 40th b-day, my mom told me that “40 doesn’t suit you” and called me a miserable bitch as soon as I woke up. I actually wasn’t, I woke up happy and got to see my friend for breakfast. I got a free Starbucks coffee. I went for a walk in the breezy weather. I laid in bed with my dogs. But I was a “miserable bitch” and a “horrible bitch.”

She argued with me over money as soon as I woke up and argued with me about doing all her shopping. Her and my sister refused to work their whole life and depended on my dad’s and my pay to support them and then argue that I don’t bring home enough money. They do almost no house work and won’t do their own food shopping or run any of their own errands. And when I say I’m tired of it, and they have to start doing something, I’m a “horrible bitch” and an “abuser.”

My mom always tries to ruin special days and events for me. I thought it was my dad all these years. But I see after he moved out, it still happens and worse. And I remember now what she always did before he got worse.

She tried to ruin my 40th b-day. She yelled and cursed at me and slung insults. For no reason. She always finds some excuse. But I decided not to give her the power anymore. And now, I’ll have someone helping me.

I asked her to take a picture of me in my 40th b-day sash that I bought myself. It’s hard to get a full body picture, myself. And she was passive-aggressive about it. What “mother” acts like this? She seriously couldn’t take a simple picture for me, for a special occasion?

Many moms would go all out for their daughter’s special day, and would be more than happy to do something to bring them simple joy. She did absolutely nothing for me, just argued with me the second I woke up, said passive-aggressive remarks, and mumbled “happy birthday,” as if she could hardly even pretend to care.

When it’s my sister’s birthday, she’s pampered with expensive flowers, a “birthday girl” ribbon, a balloon, whatever expensive cake she wants, a bunch of gifts, stuffed animals, money, whatever she wants to order online…. Whenever it’s mine, I’m told to get my own cake or whatever they feel like throwing at me, and my sister gets me a few gifts, just out of sense of obligation. My mom couldn’t care less.

My sister at least pretends to care with the bare minimum. She did argue with me, too, though. I went out for a walk, and the very second I walked in the door, they both came at me, arguing, my mom almost yelling, calling me insults. My sister did not tell me Happy Birthday and then used the excuse that I started an argument, when it was really her & my mom who did.

They tried to ruin it for me, but I wasn’t going to let them. I had a great day. I couldn’t completely ignore them, but I engaged as little as possible and told myself to consider the source. They are vile, miserable people. And misery loves company. I wasn’t going to be its company.

Not going to keep me down ❤️


One of them (sure it’s my sister) takes and breaks my stuff when I’m out, pours my perfume in my bed. I bought myself a cute Plushie/stuffed animal, months ago, and I came home to find its throat slashed one day. And of course, neither one of them know what happened to it.

They deny that they are abusers, and they claim that I am the abuser. I have screenshots to back up some of what I say. Not the worst of it, but enough evidence. They have NOTHING on me. Just the lies they constantly tell. They use the fact that both of them agree and it’s two against one, to “confirm” I’m the problem.

And what’s funny is, my sister frequently shares memes that say, “I hope your abuser dies today.” 🤣😂

If I could, I would ghost them both so hard, for the rest of this life. But, unfortunately, that’s not an option at the moment.

I found a therapist who is just beginning to get back into work. She put her career on hold to have kids. Now that they’re older, she’s back to work.

She’s going to be leaving the center soon, she’s an intern, completing her degree now.

So I won’t be her longterm client, which is actually good. I don’t feel I need longterm therapy. I can just use a few sessions to learn some coping techniques and get my voice heard.

She’s a mom and specializing in relationships, so I feel that she’ll be a good fit. As a mom herself, she’ll automatically see that what I experience with my own mom, is not normal. She may understand it in a firsthand way almost, because she knows what normal and healthy relationship she has with her own kids, and she has professional experience as well. It would be good if she has basic knowledge of cults/mind control & sociopathic tendencies. Because I believe that’s what’s going on here.

She sent me a form and asked me to explain my situation in-depth.

I’m so thankful for the chance to send it in writing first because I am much better in writing than talking.

So, it will already be on record for her to get much of the whole picture.

It’s kind of long, but I’m going to share here. I’ll copy & paste what I sent my therapist. They wanted as much details as possible, and I am thankful for that because I’m very detail oriented.

Here is exactly what I sent my (temporary) therapist (I censored my sister’s name so that no one can potentially find her and tell her any of this. I would probably be m.ur.dered, and they would probably say it was one of the dolls):

I live with my mom and sister, and they have frequent and unprovoked/easily provoked blowups/outbursts directed at me. They curse at me and argue with me and find problems with me, almost regularly, for the most trivial things or things that aren’t even wrong. It’s constant, unnecessary criticism.

And when I tell them it’s unnecessary, they call me a “narcissist” who can’t handle criticism, even though I say it’s frequent, unnecessary & disproportionate criticism that is the problem, not criticism that really is warranted. Everyone needs criticism, occasionally, but this is constant and unnecessary.

They sling vicious insults at me. I’m called things like a “piece of shit” and a “stupid fuck” and “trash,” and “a freak,” just for accidentally knocking something over or forgetting to do something, or even for things they accuse me of that aren’t true. My mom has called me scum before and other abusive insults just for spilling something, or for things my sister lied about. I never talk this way to them.

Any mistake I make or a perceived mistake by them, they attack my whole character or personality, instead of seeing it as just a mistake anyone can make. Anything I do that they don’t like, even if it’s not wrong or nothing that bad, I’m automatically a terrible person. They call me “shit for a person,” simply for being later than I said I would be for something, and any other petty mistakes.

My mom tells me my hobbies and interests are ridiculous and tells me anything I think or feel is ridiculous. Anything I say about myself, she denies it. If I say I always do something, she tells me I never do. If I say I’m working late, she accuses me of lying and being out just for fun.

If I say I’m good at something, she tells me I’m not. If there’s something I like about myself, she tries to tear it down. If I have an insecurity about something, she tries to fuel it.

She tells me my job is nothing and that it’s a job any lazy person can do and that it’s not even work. She tells me I did nothing with my life, just as an insult. When she tells me I did nothing with my life and I tell her I work, she automatically accuses me of being arrogant and trying to “rub it in” that her and my sister don’t have a job. When my point was just to say I do actually do something with my life, because she says I don’t. They take everything I actually say and intentionally misinterpret it or put an absurd spin on it, to make me look ridiculous or wrong.

My mom tells me no one likes me, and when I mention people who like me, she says it’s only because I’m fake and that if I showed them my real self, they wouldn’t like me.

When I say it’s wrong to talk to me this way, my sister & mom call me a narcissist or too touchy or tell me I deserve to be talked to that way. When I say I don’t do any of this toxic stuff to them, that they do to me, my mom says things like “Well good for you, do you want a medal or a cookie?” When my point was that it shouldn’t happen to me. I cannot reason with either of them because I only get mocked or lashed out at or told it never happened. My mom mimics my voice when I tell her what she does is wrong. She’ll say exactly what I say and use a baby voice, to mock me. She’s 64 years old.

They often deny any of it happened. They do things in front of my face, like throw something, then literally a second later, say it never happened and that I’m either a liar or crazy and imagining it. It’s impossible to address anything they do because they just deny it ever happened.

The lying with them is extreme. It’s abnormal lying. It’s lying that has no “rules” anymore. People usually lie only when the other person did not actually see/hear it and can’t know for certain. Even lying has “rules” or a reasonable aspect to it. But their lying is beyond typical lying.

They do and say stuff directly in front of or to me and then claim it never happened. I don’t have this problem anywhere else, with anyone else. I have a job and a volunteer job and a couple friends I meet up with, and no one else tells me I’m crazy and imagining things or lying or mis-remembering.

Most of this happens in person, but sometimes I have screenshots to prove something they tell me I’m crazy or lying about, to show that I’m right and not “crazy,” and then they call me a “freak” for having screenshots or saving messages. But it’s impossible to work out a problem when someone denies that it ever happened.

There’s like no reference point to work on anything because according to them, it doesn’t exist. Even if they admitted something but defended themselves on it, I can at least try to work with that and come to a solution or something. But when they deny it ever happens, there’s no conversation to take place. And that’s just it, I have to drop it.

They manipulate and control me. They threaten to break or throw away my stuff when I’m at work, and they threaten to throw me out if I don’t do favors for them. They make me go get their food & snacks every single day and run all their errands, and if I have to work late or say I’m going out and can’t do their shopping, they tell me I’m “withholding” and “starving” them, even though they are able-bodied, mentally competent adults, who have full access to my bank account & venmo account. I don’t drive, and they make me carry so much stuff home in bags for them, almost every day.

They make me bring bottles of soda and food and anything else they want. When I say it’s injuring my back and neck, they call me a liar and selfish and say I just don’t want to help them. We live very close to the stores, but they won’t leave the house to get their own stuff. Some mornings, my mom makes me go to a store for her and then more stores for her and my sister later in the evening. If I don’t, I have consequences.

If I refuse to do excessive things they ask me, I get insults and cursed at, or find my perfume poured into my bed or my stuff broken or missing, or my phone chargers cut. They both deny it was them and tell me I’m just losing my mind or that a ghost must have done it.

Or they tell me that maybe one of their dolls took it or broke it because I made the doll angry (They’re doll collectors, and they believe the dolls are haunted & conscious). No one else is in our house. I’m certain it’s my sister doing this.

Every single thing I tell them is toxic about them, they say it’s really true about me. I generally have to stay silent to avoid worse problems with them. But they always find an excuse for an argument or blowup, and it’s always them together against me.

My mom intentionally tries to provoke me to get a reaction, and when she finally gets a reaction, she calls me a narcissist who is harassing her, or calls me crazy. She starts arguments with me as I’m walking out the door or before important events. I used to think it was a coincidence, that something always happened to fall into her lap right then, then I realized it’s intentional, so that I have to walk out shaken up and wondering if it will continue when I get home.

My dad used to say he was like a “lion in a cage,” that my mom would “poke and poke and poke” until he reacted and then he was the “bad guy,” and now she does that to me since he moved out. She used to laugh at him and mock him and say “Oh yeah, you’re a lion,” about his analogy. And she does the exact same to me when I try to explain what she’s doing.

My mom & sister start arguments with me at night, so I have to go to bed shaken and stressed. But it’s all one-sided arguments because I’m not allowed to say my side. If I ever speak up, they scream at me or tell me to shut up, or they talk over me.

Anything that goes wrong, my mom takes it out on me, even when it’s nothing to do with me. If it’s not explicit insults, it’s passive aggressive remarks, and just hostile body language and facial expressions and a cold tone. When I tell her that she’s just always negative with me, that her body language and expressions and tone are antagonistic and cold for no reason, she tells me I’m trying to control how she is.

When she says vicious insults about me and I say it’s wrong, she tells me that’s how she talks and that I’m trying to change who she is and control her, instead of acknowledging that it’s toxic to me.

My mom & sister are severely verbally/emotionally abusive, and they refuse to listen to how it affects me. They tell me I’m exaggerating or lying or that I deserve it and make them do that. Or they laugh at and mock me and say I’m “too touchy.” I tell them what they’re doing is abuse, and they laugh together and say things like “Poor Kim, you’re a poor little abuse victim.”

It’s frequent middle-school-style bullying.

Then, they use my reaction to their abuse against me, to “confirm” that I’m the true problem. They say whatever they want to me or about me, and then they won’t let me talk or say my side. I have to take everything they throw at me and be silent, or they accuse me of harassment.

I’m looking for ways to cope with that and be less affected by it, because at the moment, none of us can change our living situation. The toxic family situation is not new, but through the years, it worsens to where it’s hard to live with sometimes.

My sister is very unhealthy, emotionally. She was since she was a child. She’s almost 30 years old. She has the intellectual ability of someone her age, but she throws fits like a toddler when she doesn’t get her way. She uses her health conditions as a form of manipulation.

She was manipulative since she was a child in ways no kid would even know how to be.

Since childhood, she threatened to kill herself or run away or take drugs or tell vicious lies about us if we did not do what she wanted, like take her to a playground or buy her things she demanded. My mom never got her help. She was a child, threatening suicide, and my mom let it slide. She would tell her not to tell my dad. And when my dad did find out, they wouldn’t let him get her help.

My sister has always threatened me. She’s 10+ years younger than me but tried to control me her whole life. She would threaten to lie to my boss and say I was stealing off the company or stealing off clients, unless I did what she wanted. She threatened to call my therapist back then and lie and say I was “going off.”

She threatened to lie and say my dad sexually abused her, when she got angry at him. She threatened to tell my friends I said things about them that I never said. She threatened to lie and tell people I abused her. She recently threatened that she’s going to “make my life hell.” When I tell her what she does is wrong, she breaks down and sobs hysterically and calls me an abuser, and my mom yells at me and agrees with her.

She did this since childhood. She controlled my mom, dad, and me. But, especially my mom. My dad is also very toxic and was less easy to control, so she mostly kept it to just my mom and me. I stopped falling for it, and now, my sister has resentment for me for not doing everything she wants.

She threatens to lie and tell people I abuse her and that I’m a narcissist. She posts this stuff publicly on Facebook, and I ignore it. She knows she can do this with no consequences. But just once, I shared a meme about verbal abusers on Facebook and said I have family like this. I did not name anyone.

My mom & sister saw it and knew it was about them, and they had a blowup on me for talking about them on Facebook, even though I never said it was them. I still don’t hear the end of it. But my sister lies frequently about me on Facebook, where I can see it. I can’t share my side, or I’ll have to suffer the consequences. But my sister knows there’s no consequences for saying anything to or about me.

It got worse the older she got. I had surgery a couple years ago, for example, and my sister wanted my oxy pills. She doesn’t have a drug problem, she claimed she had a headache. I said no, and she had a breakdown and was yelling and cursing at me and said she would kill herself if I did not give her the pills. She told me it would be my fault if she kills herself.

My mom began screaming and cursing at me, along with her, and told me my sister is going to kill herself if I don’t give her my pills, and that it will be my fault if she does.

They were yelling vicious insults about me. Finally, to stop the yelling and cursing and insults and threats, I gave her my pills. Instantly, as if a switch was flipped, they calmed down and were laughing together and talking to me, like nothing happened. I was still angry and anxious and stressed, while they were already over it, like nothing. It wasn’t normal.

Emotions don’t just change in a second, especially intense emotions. She was threatening to die by suicide, and two seconds later, after she got her way, they’re both there laughing and talking and having a light-hearted conversation. They tell me that the fact that I’m still angry about something later, even mere minutes later, is me “not dropping things” and me “dragging something on” and “harassing” them. I never get to say my side or explain or defend myself.

This is just one example of what happens almost regularly in my house.

My sister demands us to come out of the bathroom when she wants to get in there and says it’s our fault if she gets a uti if we don’t come out. If I’m in a shower and don’t come right out, they both scream at me and call me a “psychopath” who wants my sister to get a uti. My mom literally jumps off the toilet when my sister bangs on the door and demands it. My sister is only doing this to control and get what she wants, when she wants it.

She uses the excuse that she has stomach issues or gets utis and has special needs that she should get in the bathroom right when she needs it. That could be a valid situation in some cases, but with my sister, it’s all about control & entitlement. It’s a pattern.

My dad is also a toxic person, but not as toxic to me as they are. Him and my mom never got along. She has a lot of pent up anger because of him. He moved out around two years ago, and as soon as he moved out, my mom’s verbal abuse got worse with me. It’s like she moved onto me once he was gone. I’m an easy target for her anger.

When my mom is angry, she becomes vicious and cruel in ways she isn’t when she’s not angry. Through the years, she has become frequently angry, so she’s frequently vicious now.

It began as me being an easy target, and then took on a life of its own. It’s like I’m her punching bag now. It’s as if she has an at-home gym where she goes to blow off steam whenever she feels like, and goes wild on a punching bag, and I’m that human punching bag. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. When I try, it only makes it worse.

Everyday, she comes at me as much as she can. I’m often not home, but it’s when I am home. It’s in the mornings as I’m leaving for work, and at night when I get home. I mostly stopped texting her during the days because it was happening in messages.

She could never do this to my sister or dad because they would do worse back to her. I don’t. So, she learned that she can unleash it all onto me, with no consequences to herself.

I had a therapist years ago who said, by what I described, my mom displays displaced & disproportionate anger. She suggested I talked to my mom about it, but my mom wouldn’t accept she can do anything wrong. My mom becomes furious when she’s told she’s wrong. She’s still like that now. When I told her what my therapist said, she said she doesn’t care what “some quack” thinks of her. Now, she’s much worse than back then.

My mom is also abusive in more subtle ways that, on the surface, or in isolated cases, my not seem that bad, but all adds up. She’s regularly passive-aggressive, in just mundane interactions. Most interactions with her, even in messages, leave me drained or anxious or in turmoil, even if I can’t pinpoint exactly why. After paying closer attention, I realized she does subtle things on purpose to get at me.

My sister dropped out of school on the first day of 9th grade, and my mom never homeschooled her. My mom always took care of our basic physical needs and bought us anything we wanted, but when I got to be an adult, I realized my mom was very neglectful in other ways, particularly with my sister.

I had some basic rules, growing up. But my sister did not. I don’t have kids, but I understand that kids need guidelines or rules, and they have to have some kind of age-appropriate accountability when they break them.

My mom never set rules or boundaries or encouraged my sister to work at having a future in terms of money or work. My sister had no bedtime growing up, nothing was off limits. She was allowed to watch and eat anything she wanted, whenever she wanted. She refused to go to elementary school unless my mom did volunteer work there. My mom volunteered there til my sister graduated. My sister went to middle school, and then never went to high school.

When my sister did wrong, she either wasn’t told or was told about it and would have meltdowns and then was told it was ok after that, that she wasn’t wrong, just to calm her down.

My dad was around, but he never had a say in anything back then. My mom had the final say, and her philosophy was that my sister could do what she wanted, when she wanted, with no consequences.

And now the consequences of that are severe, as an adult. My sister is beyond entitled. She doesn’t function like an adult, even though cognitively or intellectually, she is adult age. Emotionally, she’s like three years old.

My sister never got a GED. She has an 8th grade education. My mom has no problem with that, but she does have a problem with my low pay and my job she calls “shitty” and “nothing.”

My mom never had any true problems with me. I was a very easy kid, I never gave her problems as a teenager or young adult. I went to school and work. I contribute, financially. She has no reason to have the resentment for me that she does. It’s all because I’m an easy target. And it’s regularly and intentionally fueled by my sister. My mom is like my sister’s puppet. My sister tries to control me through my mom.

My mom hasn’t worked in 40 years. She chose not to.

They both refuse to work or even get government assistance because they don’t want to leave the house. They depend on my pay and some of my dad’s social security money he gives us to help out. And they say it’s my fault we don’t have enough money because I did “nothing” with my life and have a “shitty job.”

They almost never leave the house, and they refuse to socialize with anyone. My mom wasn’t always that way, she had friends. But my sister isolated her, through the years. I used to think it was my dad isolating my mom, but I realized it’s my sister. My sister wants my mom only to herself.

They have no life outside of each other and no opinions or personality outside of each other. They disagree on nothing, and anything I tell my mom, she tells my sister, even if I ask her not to. My mom refuses to text me unless it’s in a group chat with my sister. But they have their own chat without me.

My sister has to oversee every single message my mom and me send to each other. She’s that controlling of my mom.

If my mom even hints at disagreeing with my sister on anything at all, or won’t do something she wants, my sister will scream and threaten all night long.

It’s an extreme pathological bond. It’s not normal for anyone, not even a romantic couple. They don’t exist without each other. It’s like they’re the same person.

My sister won’t go to any of her doctor or dentist appointments without my mom. At almost 30 years old.

They also share the same delusions with no basis. For example, they are both convinced that a friend I had in college, years ago, a young woman, was going to kidnap me and sell me into human trafficking. There is literally no basis for this. She was Brazilian, so they came up with this racist delusion.

They also held other strange delusions, through the years, including that my sister’s doctors were conspiring against them, doctors who did not even know each other. These are things that no reasonable person would believe. And somehow, both of them happen to believe the delusion.

This may just be a hobby, I’m not sure if this is pathological or just a different belief system/interest, but they share a doll collection, and they both truly believe the dolls walk around when no one can see and that the dolls communicate with them and tell them things.

They use crystals and pendulums and “magic” wands. But they both literally believe all this and that the dolls are telling them the same thing. They believe the dolls get angry at me on their behalf. They don’t have any separate beliefs. They don’t question or doubt each other, ever. And the source of it is my sister. If my sister said she saw a real zombie in her bedroom, my mom would believe it.

They’re like a two-person cult. It’s triggered by my sister. I realized recently that the root of all this is my sister. I had a therapist years ago, before my sister and mom were this bad, who said what I was describing about them is “emotional incest,” but it’s much worse than that. It’s brainwashing. It’s legit brainwashing, not something said as an insult or loosely. My sister brainwashed my mom.

My therapist years ago thought my mom was the one coercing my sister into it. But it was my sister all along. Back then, I did not understand the situation or the underlying phenomenon.

As a teenager & younger adult, my sister & mom would have shouting matches, regularly, every single night. My sister would have blowups every night about all of her problems, and would demand my mom to listen to her and try to fix her problems.

It was an every night thing that would last hours. It was our normal. It never involved me. It was my mom and sister, and then my dad would involve himself and make it even worse. My sister and dad would have blowups that would trigger each other’s. It was usually taken out on my mom.

Back then, my mom was not as vicious with me because she was getting her anger out on my sister. Eventually, the shouting matches got less & less. My mom would compliment her and buy her flowers and gifts and do constant favors for her, to keep her calm.

Then, the pathological bond began to develop to an extreme, and my mom’s anger was directed more at me. It got worse after my dad moved out, two years ago. The better my mom & sister get along, the worse my mom is with me.

For many years, I was confused about the source of this whole toxic family situation. I used to think the main culprit was my dad because his voice was the loudest and his toxic ways, most explicit. But when he moved out, it got even worse. I realized he was a problem, but not the main problem.

I began to consciously pay attention during interactions and see exactly what’s going on. And I thought back to all the issues through the years and realized my sister is the underlying problem. My mom has toxic traits of her own that I think are innate. She used to verbally abuse my dad before he became worse abusive to her as a result.
But my sister is the main instigator of the main problem here.

My mom used to have a personality outside of my sister, and we used to get along well enough. She was always toxic in some ways, but not this extreme. She used to say when my sister was wrong, and my mom had her own mind. My sister took over my mom’s whole person. My mom is not allowed to agree with me on anything, or my sister has outbursts and says we’re against her. Then, my mom will change her mind and agree with my sister.

This was not always the case to this extent, but there was always a hint of it. My mom always had to give into what my sister demanded, since she was a toddler. The difference is, my mom knew what was happening. She knew my sister was being controlling and wrong. She used to tell me all the things my sister did and how her life would be easier without my sister and that she felt like she had a toddler still.

She used to defend me against my sister and tell my sister she was wrong when my sister did something to me. Now, she supports everything my sister does to me. She goes along with her and encourages it.

Gradually, through the years, my mom stopped realizing what my sister is doing and is now devoted to my sister. It’s like Stockholm syndrome. She traumatized my mom into worshipping her and being devoted to her, unconditionally. My mom knows she gets rewarded the more affection and agreement she shows my sister and “punished” if she goes against her. But it’s not conscious anymore.

She literally says my sister can do no wrong. And if I say my sister did something wrong, my mom yells and curses at me, and yells “Don’t you dare say anything bad about her, you fucking bitch, she does nothing wrong!!” Or she just tells me to shut up and refuses to listen. Then, she goes back and tells my sister what I said about her. Then, my stuff goes missing or gets broken when I’m at work.

If my mom or me are using the microwave and my sister wants to use it, my sister wants us to stop using it and take our food out before it’s done so she can use it. My mom listens. My mom will stop the microwave and take her food or coffee out before it’s done, and lets my sister use the microwave. I don’t.

And I get called vicious insults for it and get lies told about me or accused of untrue things, like that I’m taking longer on purpose just to make my sister wait. Or my sister will say her depression was triggered because I wouldn’t let her use the microwave as soon as she wanted and that if she kills herself, it will be my fault. Then, she goes on Facebook and writes that I’m a monster and a domestic abuser. And I can’t defend myself or explain my side.

My sister makes my mom make her food if it’s something not microwaved, throws her trash around the floor and makes my mom pick it up. If she wants something, upstairs, my mom has to go up and get it for her and bring it down to her. My mom has to make all her doctor and dentist appointments. My mom has to wash my sister’s clothes.

And I have to pick up my sister’s prescriptions and do all her food shopping or any paperwork she needs done.

There is nothing wrong with my sister that she can’t do this. She’s just entitled. My sister does nothing but watch movies all day, while my mom and me do everything she needs. And she’s almost 30 years old. My mom sees nothing wrong with this anymore. She used to say my sister was running her ragged.

When I speak up about it now, after years of saying nothing about it, I’m told I’m abusing my sister and trying to make her feel low about her life and that I’m arrogant.

I used to think my sister was just spoiled and overly sensitive. Now, I understand it’s way worse than that. She’s manipulative & abusive. I’m not qualified to diagnose, but I think she has sociopathic tendencies. I even saw her seriously injure herself before, without her knowing I saw, just so she can tell my mom I left my scissors out and she “fell” onto them, simply so my mom would be angry at me.

She stabbed herself deeply in the leg. She went running and screaming to my mom that I carelessly left my scissors out and that she fell onto them. My mom came yelling and cursing at me and calling me insults. She wouldn’t believe that I saw my sister stab herself with something she already had with her, not my scissors. My mom called me a liar. She automatically believed my sister.

And there is no physical or logical way those scissors would have been able to even scratch her. I set them up how they were and lightly touched them with my fingertip, and they fell back. They could never have deeply cut anyone.

My sister wants me to have a toxic relationship with our mom and her and my mom have a perfect one. She will lie about me right in front of me to my mom. And my mom will believe her. She’ll tell my mom I said an insult about her or that I knocked something over, when it never happened. And my mom will yell and curse at me or say something vicious about me.

And when my mom turns around and can’t see, my sister will smirk at me, to let me know she got something over on me. My sister and me both know what’s going on, but my mom won’t see it. My sister is consciously controlling and enslaving her and using her against me.

My sister lies frequently about me to my mom, just to have my mom angry at me or defending my sister against me.

And my sister will thank her for defending her against me. She says “Thank you, Mommy, I love you Mommy.” And will secretly smirk at me. And my mom responds “You’re welcome, sweetie, I love you too, sweetie,” both in extremely sweet, fake voices.

My sister makes herself child-like, but it’s completely fake. She knows what she’s doing, my mom doesn’t anymore. But I think on some level, she does still know.

She spends money excessively, and my mom allows it. She used to not let my sister spend too much, but my sister would blow up on her & threaten until she got her way. She would accuse my mom of intentionally triggering her depression or eating disorder. Now, she does that to me. My mom began to just allow anything my sister wants.

My sister would be excessively sweet to my mom, intentionally, to get a positive reaction. My mom used to recognize what was happening and doesn’t anymore. When I try explaining, she either gets furious, or laughs at me, depending upon her mood. But she always denies it.

Eventually, my mom stopped resisting and dedicates her life to my sister. She even talks to my sister in a fake, sweet tone, that’s forced. But, I don’t think she realizes anymore that she’s doing this. Rarely, she will tell my sister “no,” and my sister yells & sobs and threatens, like before, so my mom gives in. My sister always had blowups into the night, mostly directed at my mom, unless she got her way.

A few months ago, my sister demanded to spend $400 that we needed for bills & food. My mom, for once, said no. My sister screamed all night and threatened to kill herself, until my mom let her spend it. I said we need that for bills & food, and my mom & sister both began yelling & cursing at me and calling me a narcissistic abuser who just wanted to make my sister feel low about herself. Even though just minutes before that, my mom said the same thing to my sister.

My sister claims she has multiple identities/alters/personalities living in her body. I have never seen any real signs of this. And she says it’s my fault. She pretends to be a different personality when she doesn’t get her way or is told she’s wrong, and she loses track of what she’s even doing.

Her name is ****, and she’ll be pretending to be a different personality talking about herself, and she’ll say “I told you to stop doing this to me,” then she’ll correct herself and say “I mean,**** told you to stop doing this to her!”

Clearly, it’s fake, when she’s making mistakes like that. She’ll do or say something and then later tell me it was one of the “alters” and that she shouldn’t be accused because it wasn’t her fault if they did something wrong in her body.

I tried bringing all this up during arguments when everyone is angry. And I tried bringing it up later when everyone is calm.

I tried bringing the issue up in a calm manner, and I tried bringing it up in an angry, snippy tone. I tried putting it in writing, and talking about it in person. But no matter what, nothing gets through to them. No matter how or when I try to explain how toxic this all is, it doesn’t get through. They get defensive or mock me.

They tell me I’m just having “personal issues” or that my real problem is with something or someone else and that I’m just taking it out on them. Or they tell me I’m lying or exaggerating or that I deserve it. They tell me they do nothing at all wrong.

Recently, when I was leaving for work, I told my mom that my mental health is being affected and asked if we can go for a walk together later and talk about how what her and my sister does, affects me and how we can all work on it together, to stop it and make it better for all of us.

And her response was “I’m not going anywhere with you, we don’t do anything to you, get the hell out of here.” So, I had to just walk out for work with nothing solved.

There is no working through this with them or getting through to them. They are not normal or rational people, and they never will be, especially my sister. And as long as my sister has this hold on my mom, my mom will never, ever see it, or even try to understand.

So, I have to learn how to coexist with it and manage it in my own mind while it’s going on.

Last Summer, the effect on me was so severe that I developed a prominent twitching in my upper lip when I would be walking home and know I have to see them, or when I would walk down the steps in my house, knowing they were there in the living room and I would have to walk by them.

And I developed an intense burning in my abdomen that felt like my stomach acid burning a hole through the lining. My heart was having palpitations. I told them this was happening as a result of what they’re doing to me, and they laughed at me and said I was making myself out to be a “poor little victim.” They both laughed hysterically at me. And my mom sarcastically, to be dismissive, said “Oh sure you have heart palpitations.” To imply that I don’t.

I learned to cope better and stopped the physical effects. But I would like more ideas on how to live with it.

I can explain & express myself better and remember details better in writing, so I tried to explain in-depth here so it will be easier to remember & talk about in person during my appointment. I wouldn’t be able to remember as many details when I’m talking in person.

**********

That’s the whole message my therapist received, so she’ll know all this already when I get to my first appointment. That is so helpful. I’m glad they set it up that way.

I actually asked for help a while ago, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. Whenever I found a therapist or therapy place and read about it or talked to them on the phone, they were either too expensive, virtual (I don’t want that), just not vibing with me, or there were no spots available.

Someone I talked to about it before, sent me the bio of a therapist who is taking on one more patient before she leaves in a few months. That sounds perfect to me as I don’t feel I really need a therapist other than this problem.

I think it can be resolved in a few sessions. I want my side heard and to maybe get some tips to cope with it in my own mind since there is NO CHANCE of the situation getting better. I have to count on my own mind to just handle it.

I read her bio, and I think she’ll be great. I’m glad I found her, and it feels I already have an ally in my corner who is committed to listening to understand my side.

This abuse is pernicious. It’s done in a way that’s clever and more difficult to call out. It’s carefully crafted to make it look like it could all be me and have me doubting myself and asking myself if I’m really just being petty and overreacting. My gut has always known I’m not. Then, I paid attention and thought it through and then saw social media posts about abuse & abusers like this. Sometimes whole families against one. And I understand now. They claim I’m the abuser and toxic person.

If I am the abuser, then why are my sister’s Facebook posts about me public, where I can see? An abuser would knock her head off for that. Why does my post have to have certain people blocked off it, but hers can be public?

Because I’m the one who would suffer the consequences of holding an abuser accountable. How ironic that I am the one called a narcissistic abuser, yet they can say whatever they want to and about me, right in front of me, with no consequences. And I have to keep everything in or suffer the wrath.

I see people in person and in movies refusing to accept something that is not even a fraction of the mistreatment I endure. That’s when I am reminded how bad it really is. When I see people calling out mistreatment that is nothing next to this because they know it’s wrong. And I’m expected to believe what happens to me is ok and that I deserve it (when I’m not being told it never happened).

I have a happy life outside of this. I have a fulfilling job and volunteer job. I have hobbies & interests, friends, and my pets. I have my health and events I attend. This makes it easier to cope with.

So, here is my side and my voice.

And, I hope anyone else out there struggling in silence like this, will read this, and recognize it as abuse and understand what is happening to them is wrong. It’s not ok. It’s not “just the way they are.” You are not overreacting. You’re not “too sensitive.” Your reactions and emotions are valid. You are not the problem. They’ll have you feeling like you are and doubting yourself and feeling petty. They are serious abusers.

They are no better than the husband who walks through the door and batters his wife and slaps her around.

You are seen and heard and understood here in my space. 💚

(It’s possible I may add to this post later, but I do have another, much longer version. Sometimes, I edit my posts later, when I think of more to add)

Xoxo Kim

Tales from the loony bin 🖤😁

The Harvest, fiction supernatural thriller by Sara Clancy – I got it for free on Amazon Kindle

Oh Billie it’s fresh in my memory
The night that it had to be done
You with your pick axe and scissors
And you with your shovel and g u n

And I liked your late husband Donald
But such torture his memory brings
All sliced up and sealed tight in baggies
Guess love makes you do funny things

Oh Billie oh Millie, criminally insane

Content warning ⚠️: mental health/brief mention of a*use – any censored words is in case I share on FB where we can get suspended

I have a history of voluntary & involuntary psychiatric hospitalizations (for depression – haven’t been hospitalized in 15+ years). The hospital I was in, (I don’t remember the name, but they sent me outside of Philadelphia, I had no say in the matter), had a section for the “criminally insane” (I don’t know if that’s true for all psychiatric hospitals or whatever those hospitals are called these days, also don’t know exactly what constitutes “criminally insane.” {nor do I care, I see lots of boring debate over it in legal & medical contexts, I just have firsthand experience being hospitalized with them, but I don’t know all that legal/psych stuff, all I know is they were extremely dangerous to others, and we were not, though some of us were h0micidal too but in a less “insane” kind of way, not me, I was only ever s*icidal, but one of my roommates was h0micidal against everyone when she would have fits of uncontrollable rage, she was the sweetest thing, small pretty blonde girl who I wished was my friend outside the hospital, we planned to meet up when we got out of there, but it never happened, unfortunately. She was my bff in there, we were inseparable. The staff used to say our friendship was so sweet & cute. We just clicked and even unexpectedly had matching pj’s, which made us & the staff laugh! She had pretty pastel pink ones with penguins, and I had the same but pastel blue. We did everything together in there. If we got assigned to a different activity, we would ask special permission to switch so we could stay together, they let us. The staff said it was good for us that we developed a bond like that and said we were attached at the hip. Everyone called us the prettiest girls in there and said we looked exactly alike, except she had blonde hair and was a bit taller and thinner than me and a few years younger, her hair was long, but mine was longer, nearly long enough to sit on. It touched the floor when I sat on it or when I laid in bed and tossed it over the side. They called us twins and sometimes even got us confused. Sometimes people would stop and do a double take when they saw us standing together because of how much we looked alike. Other patients constantly asked if we were sisters. I actually did not see the resemblance. I thought she was prettier than me but not in a self deprecating way. I thought I was pretty too. But she was striking in a way that isn’t normal. She looked like a model out of a Victoria’s Secret magazine. She also dressed like me. I was told to change when I walked out of our room in a belly shirt and low cut pants. So she had to call her mom and ask for more appropriate clothes because she had the same.

She wasn’t declared criminally insane but was prone to depression & random v!0lent outbursts where she wanted to k!ll anyone who was around her, including herself. In her normal state, she was quiet, calm, soft spoken, like me, and she had compassion for others. When she came out of her episodes, she was horrified at the things she said and her outbursts & threats against others. She experienced an unwanted pregnancy and had an abortion, and her boyfriend accused her of cheating because he said men everywhere come onto her, like that was her fault, and the stress of it all triggered a depressive episode for her. She said with her mental illness she wasn’t fit to be a mom or even carry a baby to term, so she terminated it. I was in there for a depressive episode that came on out of the blue, not triggered by any current life circumstances. She got released before me. We weren’t allowed to touch, it was against the rules. But we hugged goodbye anyway and were so sad to leave each other. After living together, even just very briefly, and sharing our deepest pain and laughing hysterically together all night, planning our escape, it felt like she was my family, like a long lost sister. We only knew each other very briefly, but I already loved her in a deep sisterly way. Sometimes we forgot where we were when we were laughing so hard together. We would paint pretty pictures together and hang them around our hospital room. I was grieving hard because before her, I had another sweet roommate who I loved and clicked with, sweet Holly, a girl suffering of paranoid schizophrenia, who got transferred to a different ward. They took her away and sent me Missy (her name wasn’t Missy, exactly, but it was a nickname I affectionately gave her, which she adored), a depressed girl, who I came to love just as much. I still remember her like it was yesterday. I don’t know that I would recognize her though if I ever saw her again all these years later. I’m still glad our paths crossed. Our very fleeting friendship still warms me, and the memories bring me joy. I hope to have a girl friendship like that again someday under better circumstances, of course lol and more long-term}).

The criminally insane were in a different part, but we would have food with them in the cafeteria each day, three times a day.
I remember one of my hospital friends asking a staff member who they were. We could tell they were different than us. They had a different air about them that was abnormal even for a psych hospital. Most would probably see them as more intimidating. They never scared me, but I could tell they weren’t to be messed with, and you probably wouldn’t want to turn your back on them unsupervised. Most of them were men/male presenting people. But there were women/fem presenting people among them also. They had shackles and more strict supervision. They weren’t allowed to roam the halls or the courtyards or socialize like us. We mostly only crossed paths with them in the cafeteria.

The psych. tech responded “The criminally insane” when my friend asked who they were across the cafeteria.

They would all eat their food on the other side of the cafeteria. Unlike the average or “regular” mentally ill person (or whatever we’re called these days lol I’m sure there’s a more “politically correct”/less offensive term for us), they were very dangerous. They would have v!olent outbursts against each other and staff. They couldn’t really do as much with their hands/legs, so they would try to charge at people and knock people with their heads. Lol They would jump up yelling and flip chairs and try flipping tables. The staff people would come up in back of them trying to restrain them, and they would headbutt them with the back of their heads. There was never a dull moment in the cafeteria.

It’s true, like the excerpt above says, it would be all quiet & calm then all of a sudden, all hell breaks loose for seemingly no reason. And they would set each other off. One would flip out then others would be triggered. They would try to att@ck whoever was there. Sometimes they were so v!olent and uncontrollable, they would have to be taken away to a different facility. Multiple staff members would be dragging them away as they kicked and screamed hysterically until they got the needle (this happened to us too though, we would get the needle or the quiet room for flipping out, the quiet room terrified me, I avoided it at all costs {solitary confinement, a wh!te padded room with no handle on the door n no windows, I have lifelong claustrophobia, which was very active back then}, I would take the needle any day).

It’s not like in the movies where they all have this camaraderie and plan their escape and all together and it’s them against the world. They try to k!ll each other just like they would anyone else. Those b-grade horror movies (which I love) portray the criminally insane as all buddy buddy with each other. They definitely aren’t. They probably don’t even have that capacity. If they did, they wouldn’t be how they are. (I’m guessing not all “criminally insane” people are the same, some aren’t this v!olent, I’m sure, and not all are v!olent against random people, but these people were, some may even be able to live normal lives if they get help, movies generally make mentally ill/criminally insane people out to be more dramatic than we really are because it makes for a more interesting movie. But there are definitely outbursts n stuff in psych hospitals and people who are overall dangerous – I wish there was a better way I knew how to write this, it comes off with a very strong sense of othering the criminally insane on my part, but not intentionally, it’s kind of cringey of me)

The “regular” mentally ill people had outbursts too each day, but not the same as them, ours was more like breakdowns and usually not against anyone. Theirs was against others and furious/more physical. The ordinary patients could definitely be v!olent against others too, usually the staff because the staff has authority, but usually not, and not like the criminally insane.

It’s easy to judge criminally insane people, but I feel sorry for them because I know ultimately they wouldn’t have chosen this life, this way of being, if they had a choice before coming into existence. As v!olent and terrible as they are or seem, even if it gives them a twisted satisfaction to hurt others, if they were asked before they were born if they wanted to live that kind of life or a life as a good person surrounded in love and being loving to others, most, if not all, would choose the life of love, not v!olence. Multiple factors, often beyond their control, all added up (a very large contributing factor usually being a*use or being unloved as a child) to make them this way. With that perspective, I can’t help but have compassion. They don’t want it any more than I do. It’s just I got lucky to have better circumstances, better upbringing, better genes…I lack all the contributing factors that they have the misfortune of falling victim to. It’s easy to sit here in my privilege and judge. But I rise above and expand my perspective and lean into my compassion.

Plastic forks and spoons
No laces in my shoes
They all know what I tried to do
Outside the Quiet Room
This quiet place
It ain’t so new to me
Its haunted atmosphere
Has heard so many scream
My home from home
My twilight zone
My strangest dream
My confidant
I have confessed my life
The Quiet Room
Knows more about me than my wife

This yellow text in the supernatural thriller I’m reading made me think of my own experience. I kind of miss those days Lol (I checked the copyright, ©️, the author gives permission to share short excerpts)

Thank you for any comments & likes I have received on other posts! I will get back to them! I am in the process of donating a kidney to a stranger! I received the news recently that I am pretty much qualified after six months of medical & psychiatric testing! I’m in above average physical health, but the social worker, who is a member of the transplant team/selection committee, is concerned about my mental health history. Anesthesia/major surgery can trigger a depressive episode even in a person without a depression history. So I’m at an elevated risk. I have to have another psych evaluation before I can be accepted to donate my kidney. If all goes well, I get to save a stranger’s life! 💚 The transplant could be as soon as September this year!!

I hope you are having beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!

Xoxo Kim 😍

Sometimes the only choice is…🖤

Sometimes the only choice is how you face it.

Topic: Death, dying, illness, end of life, acceptance

I watched “Extremis” and “End Game” on Netflix, two non fiction documentaries about what it’s like to be terminally ill and what it’s like to be caregivers (doctors/family) of terminally ill people. They aren’t negative or unpleasant documentaries even though they show real sick people dying in their hospital beds or hooked up to machines with tubes in their bodies, and grieving families. And while they are full of intense emotion that is sure to provoke intense emotion in the viewers, they aren’t even sad. Sadness is for sure one emotion that is involved in the documentaries, even some of the healthcare professional people display sadness and distress at seeing their patients and patients’ families like that, but it’s not the core of them. They remind us that end of life is inevitable, there’s no getting around it. They portray it as not inherently bad and not inherently medical, even when a young person gets sick and dies, it’s just part of living. I think many, even most of us, tend to forget that or at least have difficulty accepting it especially when we are in the situation either struggling with illness ourselves or knowing someone, personally, who is.

I have to have medical testing done to see what is in my neck compressing my jugular vein, it could be serious or minor. Occasionally I experience anxiety and anticipate the intense fear that is coming having to have a scan on my head/neck to see what is inside my body obstructing the vein connected to my heart & brain. Some points it’s literally unbearable just to think of. I found that the documentaries and the acceptance attitude of illness, death, and dying ease my health anxiety. Death & dying are going to happen whether it’s in utero, one day old, 6 months old, 5 years old, 20 years old, 15 years old, 38 years old, 45 years old, 50 years old, 65 years old, 78 years old, or 80+ years old. There’s no point trying to reject it or cling to life when our own time is up. It’s easier to have this philosophy than feel it with emotion and feel it physically. Intellectually we can know it is what it is and has to happen sooner or later, but that doesn’t mean emotionally it’s easy to accept.

While I hold that philosophy also and know it’s the truth, I felt my body physically rejecting the idea that it could be sick or dying in the not very distant future, it recoiled, tensed, and ached at the thought and even felt gripped in panic on occasion, even when my mind said it is what it is. But seeing the scenes in the documentaries of how terminally ill people experience end of life and the compassionate doctors reminding us that life & death are inextricably linked, and the end is coming to us all at one point or another, eased that fear. To see those dying people in their beds and see them through the lens of knowing that will be all of us, even me, one day, eases some of the anxiety. To see them as other and keep hoping against hope that that won’t be us one day only aggravates the anxiety, even exacerbating it to terror level fear, clinging to false hope that we know deep inside is false doesn’t help. Accepting what is eventually coming whether it be tomorrow or in a few decades is so much more bearable. Hope only brings anxiety when it means clinging to something that can never be. Sometimes hope works against us and acceptance is more fitting and in our best interest. It’s realistic for most young & healthy people to hope that won’t be us soon. But it could be. And accepting that it’s coming sooner or later and seeing ourselves in the dying can ease health anxiety or anxiety about the future.

As I watched those sick people of various ages in the documentaries, I found it helpful to see those people as those who got there before me instead of seeing them as people who are experiencing something terrible that I hope I never will. I have a choice to lean into the hope or lean into the acceptance. Each one has their place at different points. One may serve us at one point and the other at a different point depending upon circumstances and various factors and context.

There is no sense of “other” in these documentaries when interacting with dying people, it isn’t like us lucky heathy & them poor sick people and no sense of “those poor unfortunate souls,” there is a constant awareness that later we’ll all be in their place, even the healthy, strong, young ones now taking care of the fragile sick will be laying there in the beds of the sick & dying later. It’s just a knowing. Instead of us & them, it’s only us, in this together all getting our own turn whenever our turn arrives, which it will. Countless others have walked this path before us and countless more will after us. We’re just one in an endless cycle of an infinite amount of others. I found that a combination of my somewhat advanced age, my potential health concern, and these documentaries really made that sink in for me. Sometimes the feeling is a neutral one, and other occasions it’s unpleasant or anxiety provoking. But ultimately, it just is.

Inherently, dying isn’t good or bad and just is a fact of life. The negative connotation is something that society projects onto it. Of course it’s sad to think about not being here anymore and may seem unfair to be diagnosed as terminally ill at 45 years old right in the middle of life or at 20 years old when it hardly even had a chance to begin or at 65 years old before even getting a chance to be old, and it’s devastating for friends & family and others who know and love the sick & dying. But viewing it through that lens of compassionate acceptance (not indifference) and it being inherently inescapable makes it more calming.

And of course dying in very old age is different than dying in youth or middle age of an illness that comes out of the blue and shocks us. But no matter what, we have to face our mortality at one point or another at whatever age it comes to us. This isn’t to say prevention is pointless or that we should reject treatment if it can help extend life with a good quality and isn’t to say fear, grief, devastation surrounding the idea of death, dying, & illness aren’t valid, and not saying it’s not tragic when someone gets sick or dies early, only to say it is ultimately inescapable, and helps to remember that with gentle acceptance.

Also, all patients should have doctors this compassionate and warm.

I don’t think my issue is serious, and my whole body feels healthy and energetic and full of life, I look healthy and have all healthy medical test results other than a seemingly obstructed jugular vein on the left side and a severe headache here & there. But it can be easy on occasion to get carried away with dark thoughts, and once anxiety comes along and latches onto a terrible dark thought, it can be hard to let it go, it can grow and take on a life of its own, making up a big story that there is no real basis for. And it can be hard to live with that story playing over and over and hard to see with the reasonable part of the brain that that story is unlikely and that there’s no true evidence for it. During those moments of distress and panic and anticipation it’s more calming & comforting to think why NOT now instead of trying to reject it and wonder why it has to be now instead of much later. It’s more gentle and easier to bear while leaning into that aspect that it’s coming sooner or later anyway, coming to us all.

What’s the difference if it’s 37 year old me or 87 year old me?

When it’s our turn to go, it’s our turn. 💔❤️

Here is a recent picture of me. If you look closely at my neck, you can see where blood is pooling into the valve of my vein making it protrude. This is the vein that connects to the heart & brain, and when my blood is trying to flow to my heart as it should, it can’t get past something that is blocking it and is backing up into my head. That itself is not necessarily very serious (there are other veins sending blood to my heart), but whatever is causing it could be. Next week I’ll be getting a scan to see inside my body to find the cause then will have to wait for the phone call with the results. That thought is occasionally very distressing. Sometimes it’s deep sadness while other occasions it’s overwhelming fear. But overall, I don’t let it affect my joy each day. I am at a point where I can hope for the best, but I also lean into that acceptance of uncertainty and an eventual end whether it be soon or in a few decades.

It’s the heart that fears the breaking

That never learns to dance.

It’s the dream afraid of waking

That never takes the chance

It’s the one who won’t be taken

Who cannot seem to give

And the soul afraid of dying

That never learns to live ❤️

Death twitches my ear; ‘Live,’ he says… ‘I’m coming’ 🖤

I am wishing love, light, & health to everyone everywhere and hoping you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are. ❤️

Xoxo Kim 😍

Elevator phobe 🖤 {heads up:⚠️ there’s a picture of my cut finger in this post}

Content warning ⚠️: phobia

Click link to watch video if desired- it will show up

This video f’d me up lol Most horrifying thing I have seen. I literally felt like the very very beginning of a panic att*ck coming on, had to take some deep breaths lol 😆 Felt like my chest caving in

A man got stuck in n elevator at like the 39th floor in the middle of the night on a Friday and wasn’t found til Sunday.

I thought this was going to trigger a relapse in me just hearing that true story 😂

Also, I was where this girl was at one point. She runs up and down 17 flights of stairs to avoid elevators. I totally understand. I did that for years, even running up/down twenty floors. But I overcame it with exposure therapy some years ago. I’m so glad. That fear was crippling.

I got cut yesterday on a doorknob in an apartment building I visit for work. My claustrophobia was acting up (I struggled with debilitating claustrophobia for as long as I can remember, conquered it with exposure therapy a few years ago, it’s generally dormant, but every once in a while, I have a minor flare (this is different than a relapse which happened once), particularly if I’m dehydrated {I’m very physically active seven days a week and can get dehydrated easily, though I’m working on this – dehydration in me can trigger anxiety physical feelings, racing heart, anxious feelings, jitters…that aren’t about any specific thing, and that general anxiety can latch onto a certain thing or thought, and sometimes manifests as my claustrophobia even though it’s not originally that, yeah it’s weird lol If I have an anxious feeling for no reason just like if I have a depressed feeling not about anything in particular, it can search for something to latch onto and become about that then get carried away with it}).

I wasn’t going to go into a panic or anything but could tell I would be a bit anxious on an elevator. I just wasn’t up for it. Even on my best days having to get into an elevator takes a little bit of emotional energy out of me. It’s not destructive to my mental health because it doesn’t happen often enough and is only a little bit. I have no problem at all in general getting into elevators. But usually I do have to psych myself up for getting into one. If I’m tired (which isn’t often) or just not in a very good mood, it may be better for me to avoid elevators if possible (not always possible as I frequently have to get into them for work, and not all buildings have stair access going up or some are on like the 40th or 60th floor, I’m very physically fit but don’t think even I can run up 40 floors 😆) because I can’t give it my all like when I’m my best self. This just takes emotional energy I may not have that moment and makes me more susceptible to relapse. My claustrophobia will likely never be cured, just dormant. But that’s no problem at all, it’s enough for me to be able to function well. It used to be crippling.

Because my claustrophobia was flaring, I decided to take the stairs. I stepped through the door leading to the stairs, and it closed (I remember hoping it did not lock). I looked around, and there were no stairs to be seen, just a room with a bunch of closed doors. My first thought was uh oh, what if they’re all locked, but I did not actually believe it, thought it was just my claustrophobia talking. But sure enough. None of them would open. So I reached for the handle to open the door I just came through, and the handle broke off. I frantically grabbed the broken part still on the door and pulled. It stayed closed and sliced my hand in multiple places, especially the finger here. I tried putting the handle back on and pulling it open, but it came off again. So there I was locked in a room, the room I decided to go in to get to the stairs because my claustrophobia was acting up, and I wasn’t exactly in the headspace for being enclosed somewhere. Isn’t it ironic? Lol And my phone was almost drained.

I did not go into a panic even though I was locked in. I still remained calm and decided to try the doors again thinking if I can’t get out, I’ll just call someone and explain. I got one open that led to the stairs. To come back down, I had to get into the elevator anyway because the stairs would just lead right back to that room lol

These are my FB posts earlier. Just sharing here lol I had a battle with this building again this morning 😹

Sending love & hugs to all who want it!

Xoxo Kim ❤️

The Forgotten Mourners 🖤

Diane ❤️💔 July 14th 1956 – February 14th 2015

When I first learned about her, no less than two million buffalo stampeded across my chest. (That is just an estimate at the risk of sounding dramatic.) When the dust finally settled, when chaos clipped its own wing & the Earth relinquished her thunder, I found the remains of a heart not twenty feet from my aching body, trampled into a bloody mess. This heart did not belong to me, but I ripped open my own ribcage just to double-check.

Many years ago, on Valentine’s Day, her favorite holiday, I suddenly lost my close work friend at a former job to a heart attack. No one saw it coming. We were close but only in the workplace, not outside of work. We worked together everyday for almost ten years. We always said we would hang out one day outside work, and she would invite me to her house to celebrate the holidays with her family, but it just never happened. We never talked outside work unless we just happened to see each other on the streets or in stores. But she was often on my mind, and I could tell I was often on hers. She would tell me she saw things that reminded her of me. And she would come running over and say “Kim! I couldn’t wait to tell you this, you’ll never believe it…” (One day it was that her grandbaby said “f*ck,” and he learned it through her without her intending it 😆) She was old enough to be my mom and has adult sons and grandkids. She would hug me as we were closing up for the night and say “Love ya, girl, be careful!!” She talked to me and scolded me in a motherly kind of way. I used to overhear her bragging about me to people, telling them about classes I took, about how sweet she thought I am, as if I was her daughter. She had no idea I heard.

One day she collapsed at work and died on the floor. I wasn’t there that day, I was on a meditation retreat. I had this morbid need to see the room she died in, to stand on the spot where they told me her body hit. I thought it would feel cold and dangerous, dark, threatening, and for some reason I had to see, to feel it. I thought it would feel like a place where someone’s life ended, that the walls would somehow whisper of a last breath taken, of a warm body, full of energy, full of future plans, suddenly becoming cold & lifeless on the floor. I thought it would become a place of dread, a place I couldn’t bear to set foot, to lay eyes on. I never saw inside the room before that, just a quick glance once in a while. I had no reason to be in there in all the years I worked there. I thought I could somehow catch a glimpse into her last moments, feel her very last breath being drawn if I stepped inside. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. It was very ordinary. The same walls, the same floor, same dim light, the same sink and washrags hanging around, like the room I worked in. It was small & stuffy unlike the large one I worked in. It felt safe, actually, not a place where someone died, not the place that held my friend’s body as she left this Earth forever, where just a moment before she was reading a newspaper and sipping out of a water bottle. And I couldn’t feel anything except the pang of seeing her newspaper she was reading the morning she died, still folded up on the table, and her water bottle half full next to it, right in the middle of seemingly safe mundane life when her heart decided to give out just out of the blue without warning. She woke up that morning just like any other, probably wearing a red or heart shirt for the holiday. She was like that. I wondered about the people who took her away, were they cold, compassionate, caring? Did they think of her as someone’s mom, someone’s friend, someone’s coworker, someone? Or was she just their job, just another body to be carried out? I wondered if they felt compassion for us, for those of us left here in pieces in the now dark cold place that she occupied here on Earth.

I remember the day we met. It wasn’t love at first sight, at least not for me. I thought she was unpleasantly sarcastic and obnoxious. She was yelling and cursing to (not at) a coworker, I just began the job, and she was already there a while, then she asked me a question about how much we were selling something for, and I said fifty cents or two for one dollar, I meant to say 75 cents or two for one dollar, and she said “Yeah, well no shit it’s two for a dollar.” 😆 But she quickly grew on me, and I came to love her and her funny sarcasm.

She was a loud, funny, sarcastic woman. Every other word out of her mouth was “Fck.” If she was angry at us, we knew it. She was extremely compassionate and fiercely loving but not what most would call sweet. She was always giving her last dollar to someone else. All three of her sons at one point wanted to date me, and two were arguing over me. She told me she would be honored to have me as a daughter-in-law but that I was too good for all three of them (and every other man out there). 😆 She was angry at her sons, yelling “Don’t you fcking dare even think about going near that sweet innocent little girl til you get your sh!t together!!! I’ll kick your @$$es!!!” Then she turned to me and yelled “Don’t you dare even think about it with them til they get their sh!t together, then choose one!!” 😆😆😆 They were very close so they were always at our work coming to talk to their mom or drive her home. She always affectionately referred to them as my Daniel, my Thomas, My Matthew. She would make me lunch and bring it to me.

When she would bake cookies or something at home, she would remember me and save me some. At work we would laugh and joke together. I was always texting my mom about the funny things Diane did and said, the kindness she would show to others even when she was angry. We worked at a food serving place. One night she went to Rita’s water ice when they were about to close. The worker wouldn’t give her water ice(if you don’t know what water ice is, because I think it’s a Philadelphia thing lol, imagine ice cream but not milky? Like flavored ice but soft. Something like that). He said he was closing. The next day he came to our place when she was working. I worked at the other side, and she worked at the kitchen side. He wanted food right as Diane was closing. She said “you know what, I shouldn’t give you sh!t after you were an @$$hole last night, but I will,” and she stayed open later and made him food even though the night before, he denied her when she wanted water ice. She got nothing extra out of staying later to make him food.

One day my dad came to my work acting like he was messing with me (he has a twisted sense of humor like that, a couple occasions he came to the store at night acting like he was pulling a gun/kn!fe on me and a bunch of men at the bar on the corner would come running over to tackle him and I had to embarrassingly tell them he’s my dad just joking, I really did have a gun pulled on me one night working alone, by a stranger, and he thought it was hilarious to joke about) and said “yo what are you doing” in a loud demanding voice. Diane was going by in a car, and not knowing it was my dad joking, she yelled out the car window, “She’s working!!! The f*ck’s it look like she’s doing?!” That’s just one of the many occasions she told someone off for me. She was very protective.

The last thing I ever heard her say was “Unfuckingbelievable!” Then she slammed a window closed in my face. I never saw her again. She was angry, but I love that this was our last encounter since we had to have a last encounter. It was so her and makes me laugh.

When I found out, my world collapsed.

A cold empty feeling came over me. It felt like some kind of constant in this life of mine was stripped away and like a lonely empty space now existed in the world that was once occupied by a warm loving presence. I could have never imagined a life without Diane. A world without Diane in it made no sense. She’s the closest person to me who ever died, and I wasn’t prepared. I lost another work friend before that, which was devastating, but we weren’t as close, and it could have never prepared me for this. I knew grief then, but this was different, like a boundless ocean. My other grief was intense. It was real and true but when compared to this grief, it seemed superficial, like just the surface of it.

The feeling I remember most is the feeling like I was missing a limb. It wasn’t physical pain but felt like missing an arm, like something essential to my body/life/existence was cut off in a traumatic accident or something and felt like a numbing, tingling sensation in its place. I couldn’t identify where the numbness was or the tingling, but it was somewhere. It felt deeper than body but also physical. I never knew a feeling like this exists. All day, everyday, there was this nagging sensation like part of me was physically missing when it shouldn’t be; it felt like it was ripped away, not cleanly cut or just misplaced, like it was physically, messily ripped off of me. Something about the element of surprise worsened it. It was a completely unexpected loss. Diane was healthy and middle aged. The other feeling I remember was literally struggling to breathe everyday for no reason. It felt like drowning or suffocating. When I was eleven years old, I couldn’t swim. I fell into a swimming pool at 12 feet deep, when no one saw. I remember the feeling of not being able to breathe, my arms and legs were flailing, my chest was caving in. When Diane died, I remembered that day in the swimming pool all those years before, it felt exactly the same. My body had the same physiological reaction. I remember writing this years ago and saying it’s not a metaphor, like it was physically the same. I had to stop at random parts of each day and gasp for breath. One morning a couple months after she died, around 2:00, I woke thinking I was having a heart attack too. I thought the grief was literally k!lling me. I couldn’t breathe and never experienced anything like it. My heart was palpitating, I felt like something was wrong with my face and struggled to get out of bed. I looked into a mirror, and my eyes were completely black, it was like two black endless pits instead of eyes. It looked scary, I never saw such a thing outside of horror movies. I began to have something like convulsions gasping and gasping, thinking my mom or sister would come and find me dead of a heart attack on the floor at 28 years old.

Then I remembered that a panic attack can feel like a heart attack and thought maybe that’s what this is. I never had one before. I remembered panic attacks aren’t dangerous and won’t k!ll, just feel like they will. Back then I was a Buddhist student and remembered all the breathing and meditation techniques. I forced myself to breathe deeply and mindfully and envisioned a Buddha surrounded by bright wh!te light like we did in class, stopped it in its tracks almost instantly. That’s when I realized it was the beginning of a panic attack coming on. I never had one before or after that. But occasionally, rarely, I still have some anxiety rooted in her death. Before Diane died, I never had anxiety except claustrophobia.

I also frequently had this feeling like I wanted to scream her name hysterically until my throat was raw. I would imagine climbing with just my arms and legs up all the buildings in the city and getting to the top and screaming hysterically for her, screaming her name off all the rooftops. The pain felt like something throbbing. (I have a similar feeling to much of this when I have a pet who dies, but I expect them to, their little lives are so short and fragile, I don’t find it traumatic like this) My whole body was in throbbing pain(this is how I experience all grief). I used to lay on my bed or on my bedroom floor, curled up in a ball in agony on all levels, hugging myself trying to will the pain away. Until then, I never really realized that someone can just suddenly die even though I knew people before this who did. It stripped me of my sense of security. I felt like everyone I knew, especially my own mom, was going to just suddenly die on me without warning, and it filled me with dread and panic, kept me awake all night. My whole body was filled with trauma. Every moment I just kept thinking who is dying now, everyone I looked at I imagined them dropping of a heart attack, no control whatsoever. The ticker gives out for no reason whenever it feels like, even in young seemingly healthy people, and there isn’t a thing we can do to stop it or know it’s coming.

One day while sitting in the back of my dad’s car speeding on the highway, the throbbing was so relentless and urgent, I briefly, uncontrollably imagined opening the car door and letting myself fall into the traffic simply to stop it. It wasn’t depression or su*cidal. It was just a passionate throbbing of my entire existence that wouldn’t let up, and I had no idea what to do with myself.

I felt guilty for grieving so hard, for my body’s reaction. I felt like it wasn’t my place. She was just a work friend. I felt my grief was disproportionate to our relationship, not valid, that I wasn’t worthy of sympathy, that my grief wasn’t worthy of the place it was taking up in my body. I felt it wasn’t worthy of putting into words and out into the uni-verse, though I still did. I struggled to understand if it was a real thing or just a me thing. Unpleasant questions would intrude into my mind throughout the days. Would anyone else in my position have this reaction to such a loss, to losing “just” a friend, a coworker? Was it normal? Some kind of over attachment? Was I just being dramatic? Was I hijacking the grief of the real mourners? I knew people grieve for friends, coworkers, but mine felt not valid and too much for the situation, the fact that she wasn’t an outside of work friend made my grief seem disproportionate, and I do believe it’s even more difficult to lose a friend who is a friend in every aspect of life, not just work, both are painful and difficult. But some losses are more profound and challenging than others. This loss is terrible, for sure, but not the most profound or life altering someone can experience, like losing a spouse/life partner/child/friend who is like family in every way…Even though I knew it was real, it felt like it wasn’t, like it wasn’t mine, shouldn’t have been mine. It felt like it should have been reserved for someone else, someone more important than me, for her husband if he was still alive, for her sons, for her family or friends outside of work, like I had no right to it. I used to write about it a lot back then and often felt it was meaningless to because other people have experienced worse losses, and here I am complaining about the loss of a coworker. It seemed petty next to the loss others experience. But the pain and loss were so painful, nothing petty about it.

It’s a similar feeling when an online friend dies or even just someone we follow and don’t interact with but always seeing their content. We know our pain is real, but there’s that guilt, that nagging question, like is it really my loss? Is my grief real, valid, appropriate? Or should I step out of the way and let the real people have their grief? That would be easy and all well and good if the grief wasn’t nagging day and night, keeping us awake, insisting that it is in fact our own loss as well. If the loss and the love weren’t real to us, there would be no grief to ponder, but still it’s hard to embrace it as valid. If my grief wasn’t so intense and at some moments even v!olent, I wouldn’t have questioned the realness, the validity. Anyone can be sad when even a stranger dies. But this was a deep, heavy personal grief I did not feel entitled to. There are so many memories of just the two of us. Laughing, eating, joking, drinking hot chocolate together, listening to Rod Stewart… memories only I hold. Someone has to grieve for those lost moments and give them a place, honor them. Someone has to give them life. Who else can? We had a relationship, a connection, memories that only we shared, that were ours alone. No one else can grieve for that, only I can. Thinking this way makes it seem a little bit more valid.

I tried looking up things on Google about how to cope with the loss of a coworker to death, looking for something to validate my grief, and couldn’t find much at all. Google seemed to think I was looking for ways to support a grieving coworker and also suggested ways to support the family of our dead coworker. This hints at how it’s really not considered a significant/personal loss and hardly even worth mentioning. I looked it up again recently out of curiosity. I found two things for that specific loss but mostly just the same stuff as before and about grief and loss in general.

I always loved her, and I sensed she loved me too, and she was a significant part of my everyday for nearly ten years, even when we weren’t together, but as platonic friends and only at work, I wasn’t sure how valid our relationship was, how important it really was, not to us, but to anyone else, society in general, just whatever truth exists, I felt the grief, sympathy, should be reserved for real friends and family and couldn’t understand why I was reacting the way I was, felt I was overreacting, dramatizing my situation, but I couldn’t get it to stop. It was beyond my control. It was physical.

I remember writing that if I knew that last moment what was coming, I would have never let her go, would have slashed open my chest, cracked open my ribcage, if I could have, ripped out my own bleeding heart and handed it to her. And I would have.

Recently Instagram suggested I follow an account of a complete stranger. I loved the thumbnail picture I saw, a beautiful young woman and man on their wedding day. I love sweet posts like that so clicked her account just to see her love photos and was very surprised and dismayed to see in her bio, “widow.” At 26 years old! Part of my brain wouldn’t let me believe it at first, I knew it couldn’t be true at their age, but it is. I read her posts where she describes her grief after a tragic car crash, and I was surprised to see it somehow resembled the first couple years of my own grief, she described the missing limb feeling(I never heard anyone else say this), a feeling like part of her body missing, a feeling like drowning and suffocating, the physical sensations, the sense of panic and panic attacks. It was everything I remembered. I know hers is much worse, but so similar in some way. I could tell my grief wasn’t as profound, not as permeating, not as life altering, that there were layers and aspects missing even while the throbbing and aching were at their worst. Things I will never understand. And she mentioned something about not really understanding true grief or pain til you lose a husband and the father of your kids. And I do know what she means. It brought back that old feeling like I overreacted, that I had no place grieving, especially to such an extent, such depth over a friend, just a work friend. I felt guilty like I was taking off of someone else’s real grief and loss somehow by having my own experience. U.S. society and others, as a whole, favor romantic love/relationships and parent/child ones. Any other relationships/grief/loss/love…get pushed aside, and all the sympathy/validation tends to go to the spouse/romantic partner/child/parent. So it can sometimes be challenging to have intense grief for a different loss and see it as valid or even real. It feels guilty. It feels almost like being some kind of imposter, taking on the role of someone in mourning, someone broken over a shattering loss, when there is a more important person somewhere suffering even worse over the loss. No matter how much we suffer about a loss like this, there’s going to be someone else seemingly more entitled to that suffering. Ours will forever be overshadowed, dwarfed by theirs. It feels like playing make believe or playing house or dress up because we don’t yet or won’t ever know the real thing. It makes it seem insignificant yet the pain is still so heavy and real.

“Heaven knows,” (for lack of a better term), I never asked for or wanted that traumatic experience or deep deep pain, that panic. It came at me. I never wanted to lay on my floor at 3:00am, eyes black, wide awake, gasping for breath, shaking in agony & panic at the thought of never seeing her face again. And I will say, I don’t wish I was one of the important ones. I certainly don’t envy the girl who lost her husband or the son who lost his mom or the dad who lost his daughter. This “lesser grief” isn’t about wanting to be a part of it or wanting to play the role of a grief victim, a loss survivor, but is just a natural reaction to something that is a loss to us in its own context, its own way. I may not be an important one and maybe it’s much less in magnitude than a real mourner’s, but for whatever reason this loss is a devastating one, and grief will reflect that.

My grief nearly ten years later is no longer as prominent as it was. It’s a quiet, deep, ache that sometimes washes over me. Sometimes it’s still heavy enough to feel it could have potential to bring me to the ground, but that feeling is very brief when it hits. It used to be heavier, threatening to bring me down in random places, feeling as if my body would collapse wherever I was standing. Sometimes I would leave for a store and on the way feel I couldn’t go on and thinking I may have to turn around and go back home. It would hit anywhere, on a bus, walking up a street, in a grocery store. Sometimes it was more panic than pain, like a claustrophobic feeling, but feeling like the world is too large instead of too small, feeling like she’s lost out there somewhere and I would never find her. Thinking about her never seeing her sons again, never meeting her new grandbaby she told me everyday she couldn’t wait to meet when he was born, never tasting her favorite strawberry ice cream again, never listening to her favorite song, never again hearing her voice, my body would threaten to collapse. I no longer experience the fear, the panic, just the sadness part, but it’s almost never overwhelming, deep but not threatening. It’s more sadness now than unbearable pain. It can exacerbate sometimes and be especially deep, either randomly or something that reminds me of her. I often feel it in the beginning of Fall because it’s my favorite. I still have a slight sense of something being cut off, missing but mostly faint. I can tell it’s not going to fade any more than this. It’s a part of me now. It’s like background noise usually, unless I focus on it or something brings my attention to it. Writing this brought it all back. There are moments I desperately wish she was here, not necessarily always for me to see or talk to, but that she was here to get to live and have her favorite strawberry ice cream and listen to Rod Stewart, to watch her grandkids grow up and yell at her sons.

Anyway, I’m not even sure why I’m inspired to post this, but I am. Just seeing that girl’s grief so raw and so well articulated, took me back to my own, as I was reading, I was shaking my head in agreement and saying yup to myself, yet I haven’t a clue what it’s like for her as I haven’t suffered a loss like that. I would never think I know. But it felt like some underlying part is similar or maybe it’s the surface that is, I would never say that to someone struggling though, never ever would I say or even think “I know how you feel.” I know there are more layers and aspects to some losses than others even if the gist of it feels similar. Then I had that feeling all over again like it wasn’t valid or real even though I know it was real.

Since I met her I have spent as many years without her now as I have with her, but the years with her feel like much longer than the ones without, packed with so much experience, so many memories. It doesn’t even feel long since I last saw her. I can still remember her love all these years later. I never felt that I lost that. Losing her never meant losing that love.

She told me of all the amazing things in this life she wanted for me, love, my dream job, happiness…the main thing she hoped for me is that I would always keep my sweet and kind and gentle personality even in the face of challenges and encountering difficult people. She said one of her worst fears was me becoming cold hearted when I see how cold hearted the world can be. She told me to always stay kind & keep loving no matter what.

And I want to say to anyone reading this, if anyone is, I’m sorry for YOUR loss, the loss of your online friend, your coworker, the loss of your neighbor, the loss of your brother or sister or sibling, that’s not just your parents’ loss or their spouse’s and children’s, that’s YOUR loss. And it’s ok to grieve. There’s, unfortunately, enough grief for everyone.

…the rhythm of my heart
Is beating like a drum
With the words ‘I love you’
Rolling off my tongue ❤️

Sending love to all in need,

Xoxo Kim

Elevator fear 🖤 {another dream}

This is an image I created using AI 🖤 I made it to represent my elevator fear and dreams

Content warning ⚠️: claustrophobia, brief mention of s*icidal ideation and self injury, but the self injury isn’t in a “depressed kind of way,” but a result of panic

This post was meant for yesterday!

These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life 🖤

I’m going to share my nightmare while I was asleep but first will give it context by explaining my claustrophobia.

I shared here before about my lifelong struggle with debilitating Claustrophobia, actual diagnosed Claustrophobia, particularly fear of elevators. I have struggled with it since I was a little girl for an unknown reason. I used to run up 20 floors just to avoid getting into elevators, but in some buildings stairs going up are blocked off. Just walking by an elevator or having to go into a building knowing they’re in there, would be enough to experience intense fear. Sometimes being in an elevator I would go into such a panic, I would claw myself up with my fingernails until my skin bled, just out of a sense of not knowing what to do.

When I was young, I mostly could avoid elevators so it wasn’t as much a problem except on school trips and visiting people in hospitals. That was challenging. Also as a college girl, sometimes I had to get into elevators to get to class. I was embarrassed and insecure about my claustrophobia as a young girl. I did not know it’s a disorder or a defined thing. I thought it meant I’m wimpy. I was impressed when other kids could get into elevators and not be scared. I thought they were braver than me. I now know this isn’t true. Claustrophobia is an anxiety disorder and doesn’t mean someone is weak or not brave. As a girl, I used to daydream that I got into elevators with no fear, and I longed to be this brave for real.

I am one of the phobia sufferers who would often face my fear and get into an elevator anyway and just suffer. I wouldn’t have a positive mindset about it. Many phobia sufferers cannot face the fear and will always avoid the source at all costs. It’s a cruel irony, as I have said before, to have to come face to face with the very thing we fear most, to get over it.

I “cured” it myself after trying out professional exposure therapy and seeing it just wasn’t needed for me; I could handle it on my own. I did use the exposure technique but on my own without the help of a therapist any longer. My claustrophobia was so severe and crippling, it would trigger s*icidal episodes. It’s a very powerful breathtaking fear. It’s so powerful, it inspires awe in me to get to experience something so profound. It’s one of the most intense feelings there is, and not everyone gets to experience something so powerful in that way. I don’t like it, but still intrigued by it and thankful for the experience. It reminds me of love even though it’s not pleasant, the intensity of it can be the same, like so strong, it could move mountains.

It got better, but then I suffered a relapse at the end of 2017 after making the mistake of watching the numbers and waiting for the doors to open. It seemed to take a fraction of a second too long, which made me crumble in terror. This is when I began the exposure therapy. When I first got better, it was after getting used to getting into elevators with a dog. Then eventually I could alone. For a while, I would imagine the dog in there with me even when she wasn’t. That helped. I did not have to get into elevators as much anymore so got unaccustomed to it after the relapse. Then I had to again and could not handle it. So I began organized exposure therapy and meditation. The Philadelphia Eagles won the Superbowl in 2018. Their motto leading up to it was Let us prey. I adopted this saying and attitude as my mantra and way of coping with my Claustrophobia. I chose to prey upon the fear instead of allowing the fear to prey upon me.

I’m not cured. I still have it. It’s just dormant. I can still always feel it beneath my surface and know that it can come back. It’s slightly threatening. I know it’s here possibly waiting to be unleashed. This is true even when I’m calm as can be closed inside an elevator. Sometimes this knowing is more intellectual, and other occasions it’s more a feeling with body and emotion. I don’t mind this. I just peacefully coexist with it. I have to keep getting into elevators to keep myself used to it. If I ever stop, it will come back. Some days just for no particular reason, I feel a flare up and avoid them if I can because I know not to push myself; that isn’t the same as having an active phobia and avoiding them when I have to encounter them to get better. But that’s seldom. Also, if I’m anxious about something else or am dehydrated (dehydration gives me anxiety in a physiological way, not anxious thoughts, but just a feeling of anxiety and physical symptoms), my claustrophobia will flare, not a full on relapse, just a flare. The anxiety of dehydration will latch onto thoughts about being stuck in an elevator and manifest as claustrophobia.

My claustrophobia was always present even being inside an elevator with people. But eventually I stopped being afraid as long as people were inside with me or a dog was. The thought of being trapped inside with a dog or other human stopped terrifying me, just being alone did. Even now, I wouldn’t be afraid or only slightly if an elevator wouldn’t open with a dog and me or another human and me. Before, that would have still sent me off the deep end. Even if it locked with just me now, I can handle it, I think, as long as I don’t have a relapse.

Since I was a little girl into adulthood, I have been plagued by recurring nightmares of being stuck in an elevator. In my dreams it’s an old familiar fear, as if I have been stuck in one before, like a knowing feeling, an intimate knowing, like oh this again. This again. Each dream brought with it the same old feeling, like an underlying thread connecting all the dreams together even spanning over years, decades. Like in each dream it was as if I remembered all the dreams before it, not necessarily consciously remembered, but knew on some level that this keeps happening, but in the dreams, it felt more like they were reality than a dream. Almost like I’m stuck in another world where I am sentenced to getting stuck in elevators again and again and again. Like Groundhog day lol Sometimes I would have multiple elevator dreams in one night. The dreams all start out like regular life, I’m going about my day then must get into an elevator then It happens. My worst nightmare.

This again.

It happens in all different ways, but it’s all the feeling of absolute dread where I just know. I know I am not getting out of here.

I stopped having them for so long.

Until last night.

No idea why, but last night, I had another elevator nightmare. I can’t remember when I last had one. I’m not anxious, and my claustrophobia isn’t relapsing.

But last night I had a dream that I was about to get into an elevator. There was a friendly, smiling petite woman already inside holding the doors for me. I remember her so vividly. She was pale skinned and around my age, maybe a bit older, around as tall as me, maybe slightly shorter, and she was slightly thinner than me. She had what may be called strawberry blonde hair, mouth length. She was wearing a navy blue and white striped long sleeved shirt. The stripes were thin. I don’t remember her pants. She wasn’t physically beautiful but not ugly, but she was beautiful on the inside. What some may call mousy or plain in appearance, but she had a cuteness about her, a humble prettiness. She was very sweet and friendly with a gentle air about her.

We both happened to be going to the 14th floor in whatever building it was. I have no idea why we were there. She was delighted and pushed the button for us both. She had a compassionate, warm, welcoming personality, like she never met a stranger, like she may have been open to developing a friendship or at least an acquaintanceship with me, just in that mundane encounter where most wouldn’t even give each other so much as a glance. It was like when she looked at me, she saw me. Not the way strangers around look up and quickly look away. It wasn’t her words that allowed me to know her nature, but her body language, her facial expressions, her energy, her actions, her smile. I remember her warm energy.

We got to the 14th floor, and the elevator sped past and went to the 17th floor and stopped and wouldn’t open. When it went past the 14th, we both knew. We knew It was happening.

It.

It with a capital “I.”

I’m covered in head to toe chills just writing this. The fear and the knowing in the dream were not normal. We were doomed and knew it in a way that people in reality wouldn’t know it. It’s a kind of knowing, a kind of knowing fear that only exists in dreams or nightmares. Sure, real people who are rational may be anxious but wouldn’t already be in despair and *know* they will be stuck forever or die. We did know, and we were in despair. Real people would be thinking like let’s see how to get this fixed or hopefully this opens or what is going on or thinking we have to call for help or wait for someone to let us out…we had no hope and did not have to wonder, we were doomed. There was no one coming to let us out. And we knew. We knew the very split second that elevator sped past floor 14. The woman gasped and said something I can’t remember, and I stood there paralyzed in that old familiar intimate crippling panic. It was happening again. IT.

The elevator just froze there at the 17th floor. I was panicked that we were stuck. Then I suddenly realized we had a bigger problem than just being stuck. I realized being stuck at floor 17 means being stuck in the air, that high up. Just hanging in midair. I imagined it dropping and us falling to our deaths. Suddenly, as if to hear my thoughts and wanting to taunt, it began to go down very quickly. I wasn’t sure if we were dropping to our deaths or it would land safely, but I knew either way, we weren’t getting out of there, and so did she. Suddenly it began dropping faster and making loud noises and lighting up, then it began going back up and then down then back up, the flashing lights getting more and more intense. All the numbers were lighting up. The whole situation felt aggressive, like the elevator was consciously attacking us. Like it was out to get us.

The woman was screaming and had her head down, covering it with her arms in a defensive stance, as if to protect herself against whatever blows were to be coming to her. I wasn’t screaming or doing anything (typical of me in reality also), but my fear very much matched hers. The top of the elevator began to open up, and we both eagerly looked up to see if maybe, just maybe, there was a way to climb up and get out. There wasn’t. We saw something, I can’t remember what, that we both knew meant it was a hopeless situation for us. We looked at each other, her face contorted into a mask of horror and despair and a desperate pleading look. The crashing noises got louder, the lights more flashy, the elevator began to close in on us as we both got into the self defensive position and moved closer to each other, then clinging to each other knowing our end was very near.

Then I woke up.

And that’s that. lol

First thing this morning, I had to get on an elevator by myself for work. And I remembered this dream as the doors were closing on me. So that was fun. lol 😆

I have been having very vivid dreams lately. I always have but not as much as years ago when I was young, and I don’t remember them as much as I used to. But recently I have been having very detailed dreams that I remember. I generally don’t have unpleasant dreams.

I love that my mind made this character up and brought her to life so vividly. She wasn’t anyone I ever knew for real. I’m not sure how true it is, but I read before that our brain doesn’t make up faces, that if we dream a face very clearly, like my situation here, it means we necessarily saw that face before in real life, maybe even decades ago. It may not have been that person in our dream, just their face. So like this woman’s face could have been my 5th grade teacher’s (in fact thinking back, I think they did have a similar face, build, hair style…and she was warm, sweet, friendly, and around that age maybe lol) even if she wasn’t that person/my teacher in my dream. It was so creative of me lol 😂

This is probably strange, but I kind of feel sorry for her. She was so real, and whatever happened to us, I got to wake up, but it was her ending. Not that it was real. But there is a lingering feeling that I got to be the lucky one who escaped because I get to be the real one, flesh and blood, who gets to wake up and continue being. Also, there was a hint of guilt because it’s my brain that created that world and that dire situation for that character. lol I should probably stop now before I sound batsh!t. 😂

Anyone want to share an interesting dream experience/recurring dream/insight on dreams or anything, go ahead! Or even just your most recent dream you can remember, if there’s one. I would love to read! Dreams are so interesting! I’m especially interested in how, like I said, these dreams are like all linked with an underlying thread and how in dream world, we can know things in a way we wouldn’t in reality. Like we just knew we weren’t getting out of that elevator, not in a negative thinking kind of way but true knowing. In reality if the elevator sped past the 14th floor, most people’s initial reaction would probably be confusion. Like WTF or what’s going on. Our initial reaction was knowing. Then panic.

I don’t mind these dreams/nightmares. They are not pleasant but are fascinating. I am more intrigued than disturbed.

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are! And sweet dreams tonight lol 😆

Xoxo Kim ❣️

Last night I had the strangest dream…{for real though 🤣 total cray cray 😜}

Pretty in pink today! I’m all pink, I even have a pretty pink bra/panties/socks/nail polish(it’s chipped though lol)/mask….lol 💕

Ain’t nothin’ gonna to break my stride
Nobody gonna slow me down, oh no
I got to keep on moving
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride
I’m running and I won’t touch ground
Oh no, I got to keep on moving
You’re on the road and now you pray it lasts
The road behind was rocky
But now you’re feeling cocky
You look at me and you see your past
Is that the reason why you’re runnin’ so fast?
And she said
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride
Nobody gonna slow me down, oh no
I got to keep on moving
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride
I’m running and I won’t touch ground
Oh no, I got to keep on moving 🖤


Trigger warning ⚠️: Mention of depression and s*icidal contemplation, may be disturbing or triggering to some, may be slightly graphic details

This post was meant for 11/28/2022 It’s after 12:00am now so the date changed.


Last night I had the STRANGEST dream/experience. Actually, early this morning. It was BIZARRE! I think it may have been mild/partial sleep paralysis, which happens sometimes when I’m depressed, ever since I was young. Usually my sleep paralysis when it does occur (which is not often and even less the older I get), is severe and extremely unpleasant. This wasn’t but was certainly strange. It was actually beautiful and inspiring and just so weird! Usually when I’m experiencing sleep paralysis, I try hard to get myself up and experience a sense of panic and being deeply disturbed and terrified. With this, I was accepting and not trying to force myself awake.

First I will mention for some context that I have a tooth infection that I have had for months now(I’m embarrassed to admit this but over half a year, actually). A few years ago, I cracked my tooth flossing(I have very soft teeth). A few years later (now), that break is infected. I work seven days, morning through evening, sometimes lighter weekends, and we are understaffed so I been doing home remedies and putting it off. My boss doesn’t want to lose clients, and I’m basically the only worker now. We have a few people helping out, but what they do is very limited. I’m a full worker. He said me taking off when we’re so busy would be disastrous for his business. So I been trying to hold off as long as I can. I warned him that it’s life threatening and I can succumb any day(he said ugh! I’ll lose so many clients! I can’t afford that! Just try to stay alive! 😆). Months ago my whole face was swelled up, and I was in agony. I got it under control and swelling down, but cannot get the infection gone. A couple nights I walked myself to an emergency room when it was flaring worse but decided nah I’m not sitting in there for 12 or more hours and don’t want to overwhelm our healthcare workers any more than they already are. Last thing they need is another dental patient running there when they have so many other patients needing them. I just can’t. So I left and got it under control again. One day, at the end of October, I woke up at 3:00am feeling as if it was spreading. I got out of bed and walked to an emergency room then decided I couldn’t stay because I was taking care of someone’s dog and couldn’t leave him alone so walked to cvs instead for some first aid stuff. It helped a bit. I thought I was dying that morning. I had pain & mild flu like symptoms (wasn’t this virus). I was a regular blood donor for years and haven’t been able to donate in so long because of this.

Recently I was very very sick, as sick as I have ever been in this life, and I seriously never get sick. I couldn’t even get out of bed. I had to tell my boss I literally couldn’t work. This is unheard of. In the six years I worked here, I never ever took hours off for being sick. I did work that day, all day, but got too sick by the evening to do my evening work. I thought it was my infection making me sick, turns out, it was just some virus(I wear a mask and don’t go near anyone, don’t work with humans). But being sick like that showed me what can happen but worse if I succumb to my infection. I NEVER get sick like this and it was like seeing another side of myself I did not know. It was so uncharacteristic of me. I am healthy and energetic as can be, walking 10 and more hours a day. I never even get tired. I never just lay around in bed, I’m either out walking or dancing around my room blasting Oldies. My body feels so healthy it’s palpable, the feeling of health I experience each day. And I am very conscious of how healthy and full of endless energy I am/feel.
Any physical sickness/cut/injury I get usually heals in a day and doesn’t take me down. This took me down for days. I couldn’t even stand, and I had to work, but had to keep stopping places to rest. So this was so so unusual and I was taken aback. It was like a wake up call. I don’t want to get sick like that but worse with sepsis, which untreated tooth infections lead to.

Also, I have been struggling with s*icidal depression off and on because of lack of close true friendships for a few years now. This gets me to not care as much about myself, feeling I’m not worthy and my own life doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not a philosophy I hold; it’s the depression. It triggers depression then depression tells me I’m a worthless loser with no friends and no purpose and no accomplishments in life…And it just weakens my will to survive. Recently, a fifteen/sixteen year friendship of mine that used to be close officially ended like Facebook unfriended ended lol That’s how we make it official these days. 😆 I went to unfriend him and lo & behold! He already unfriended me(so I went a step further and blocked his account 😆 good to know we still think alike!)! I guess it wasn’t very surprising. We have been drifting apart for years (on his part) and resentment was building for a while, on my part and apparently on his part too since he saw reason for unfriending. And we were inseparable for years. Even whenever he would get a new boyfriend, he wanted to spend every second with me. He would invite me on dates with them, even on their valentine’s day celebrations. We met at a dance and danced all night and that was it, we were bff’s. He even included me in family only events shortly after meeting each other. He came to visit me everyday during my psychiatric hospital stays for my depression. He became very unhappy with his own life through the years and began acting differently in unhealthy ways. Recently he began showing signs of a midlife crisis. He also has severe depression. I held out hope he would change and go back to being himself, but he wouldn’t. His behavior became toxic to me. It would trigger my depression or make it worse. This unfriending doesn’t help my depression, but I was already emotionally done with him (after so much turmoil over the loss of closeness through the years and having no other close friends – we had mutual friends, but we drifted apart too – we were mostly all friends through him, that’s the problem when one person holds a group together) so it’s not the biggest blow.

Depression makes me very physically ill and fatigued when it’s to a certain point, but I still feel a sense of ingrained physical health. I want to keep it this way.

I finally made a dentist appointment a while ago, but there was nothing available til around a month away. So I can’t get help til mid December. I have no dental insurance so found a place where they give us discounts if we’re poor lol The infection seems to have spread into my sinuses, and my nose has been gushing blood for days on the side the infection is on. But there isn’t a thing I can do about it. Dentists and hospitals are overwhelmed and backed up. So I’m just here waiting to get sepsis and die or for my healthy body to hold me over til mid December. I am extremely healthy. I have a wicked immune system. That’s why I’m still alive. I looked it up, and basically I should have been dead months ago. lol I decided to stop neglecting/abusing my body in certain ways I have been, I’m going to get it the help it needs. It’s strong and beautiful and carries me and keeps me alive. It kept me alive much longer than it should have. I’m going to pay it back with kindness and basic needs.

So this is what happened early this morning.

I woke up, and it was too early for work. So I rolled over and fell back asleep. What felt like only a few seconds later, I woke up standing in the bathroom in my house walking to the toilet to pee. lol I had this general confused feeling like how did I wake up standing in the bathroom. And who wakes up standing? Suddenly I peed my pants a little bit before making it to the toilet right in front of me. lol (I recently read a funny post by a mom who has incontinence after giving birth to three babies, and she peed when she laughed and yelled to her husband “I just peed my pants, this is mom life!” and he burst out laughing at her, and they fell over laughing hysterically together. lol She posted a picture of them laughing together. I thought this was funny and cute but was thinking no thanks I’m glad I never had kids! I don’t want to pee my pants whenever I laugh{and I laugh A LOT, like full on belly laughs}! Not that it’s the worst thing and is very common in assigned female at birth people, particularly those who give birth, but I would prefer not to lol I would be peeing all day!)

So then I sat on the toilet to pee the rest lol I was concerned about the incontinence thinking why would this suddenly happen, but even more concerned about the sleepwalking. I sleepwalked my way into the bathroom which made no sense. I never sleepwalk! I was thinking so is this going to keep happening now, the incontinence and the sleepwalking? The incontinence I can handle, but the sleepwalking just isn’t ok! I also noticed I was wearing blue jeans as I was pulling them down. I fell asleep in soft blue pj’s. I don’t sleep in uncomfortable clothes. So that was off. Did I get changed in my sleep too? I was still wearing my red pj shirt though. Just the soft pj pants turned to blue denim ones.

After peeing (can’t remember if I washed my hands or not – I would in reality though 😆), I was walking out of the bathroom back to my bed and collapsed to the floor in the bathroom doorway. Something was pulling me down so hard beyond my control. Half of my body was in the bathroom still and the other half (my upper half) was in the hallway. (The bathroom in my house is in my bedroom! no hallway! It wasn’t my actual house even though it was supposed to be, but I did not realize when it was happening! For real I live in one of those super small houses with only one bathroom that happens to be in a bedroom where everyone has to walk through that bedroom to get to the restroom, and it’s in my bedroom, my sister did not want everyone going in and out of her bedroom lol This house was large) I wondered why I was collapsing. It was happening in slow motion. I couldn’t stop it. Then I realized I was dying. At first I wondered if I was dying then it hit me that I was literally straight up dying right there half in the bathroom, half in the hallway. It was not painful, and I did not feel sickly at all, could just feel the life slowly draining out of me. I remember thinking so this is what it is to die. And it’s my turn here & now. I felt helpless, powerless, but not really in a negative way. I just wasn’t attaching a negative perspective to it like most probably would. It was a powerful feeling. Not pleasant but can’t say it was fully unpleasant, almost neutral but more on the unpleasant side if it were a scale that was slightly tipped to one side or the other. I was intrigued. As I lay there dying, I was racking my brain trying to understand why. It made no sense. I am so healthy, so energetic, so physically fit (not fit like I work out level fit, but physically active enough), how could this be??? There was some anxiety at the thought of dying since it was a new to me experience and there was some uncertainty about what it would be like.

But my curiosity was more prominent than my fear. And I had a faint feeling of this is too bad that I’m dying and felt like I may be on my way to experiencing full-blown fear, I felt panic potentially arising, but more so I had a feeling of it is what it is, if I have to go now, I do, but why?? My age isn’t quite old enough just yet for my body to shut down because of age. Then it hit me. Oh, sh!t, that’s right! The infection is finally taking me out. I thought of my mom and how she wouldn’t be happy as she has been begging me all year to get it treated now. She said f your job and get taken care of. lol She said she can’t believe someone can choose to go this long with an untreated infection. She keeps asking me aren’t you scared?! lol I’m not. She tried getting me to get antibiotics off family members who had them, but I do not take illicit drugs.

I felt something non physical leaving my physical body as I laid there on the bathroom floor. It was like two of me, the physical body I am so familiar with, and a “spirit” me (I don’t actually believe in a spirit that can leave a body, but this was my experience this morning) leaving it. Both were me but like two sides of a coin. I was laying there unable to move at all thinking this is it, I’m dying. The spirit me was slowly leaving. My consciousness still identified more with the physical body. So it was nerve wracking to be leaving it even though it was still aware and going with the spirit me. It was almost as if the consciousness was a thing of its own, independently, watching its physical self and its non physical self. But it had to go with the non physical aspect. There was some anxiety and unhappiness about the thought that I will never be here on Earth again, all my thoughts, interests, experience… gone forever. The anxiety was just at the thought that it’s an unknown to me experience, and the unhappiness was just like I guess I’ll miss out on all the things I love each day. But I told myself it’s beyond my control and has to happen sooner or later anyway. It has to happen to all of us, and I’m no exception; we all have a time to go, and this is mine. It has to happen someday so why not now? What’s the difference if it’s now or in twenty years or forty years or whatever?? Same thing either way. This may seem wise. But in my case, it’s my depressed view. When I’m not depressed I have clung to life if I ever thought I was dying. Kicking and screaming and clawing at whatever I could to stay on Earth (not that I was ever really dying but a few occasions I have thought so).

Then I had another thought, wait! Could I be sleeping and this is a dream and I’m not dying but waking up back into my reality? I wasn’t sure but strongly suspected that. I felt that it’s dream me who is “dying” as the dream world is ending, not actually me dying. In a sense, dream me was dying as that version of me was ending and would never be again. At this thought, I felt more relief than I was expecting as I did not realize how put off I was at the thought of dying. Consciously, I was mostly indifferent to it. (This happens when I’m depressed and depressed I was both in reality and this dream) But I guess I wanted to live more than I realized. I noticed when I am at my most depressed s*icidal points, I often have dreams about wanting desperately to live even though in reality it feels I don’t. When I am dangerously s*icidal, which is not often but recurring, it’s common for me to have dreams that someone is trying to k!ll me, and I am trying desperately to run and get away and live. I noticed it through the years when my s*icide contemplation is serious. In my dreams I want to live and would do anything to survive. My depression produces very life affirming dreams.

Something was happening I just couldn’t quite grasp. My physical body was getting heavier and heavier and couldn’t move as I lay there sprawled out on the floor. The spirit me left physical me completely. It turned a corner, half walking, half floating, if I remember correctly (I think it meant to float, but since I am so used to being physical and walking, it was trying to walk out of habit – the consciousness was me, it was my sense of self, it felt just like me so still had some earthly ways about it even though it was no longer restrained by a physical body) in the dark hallway and was going somewhere with a strong sense of purpose, like it had a mission to accomplish (in reality I have been feeling I have no purpose lately, but this aspect of inner me felt deep purpose, and it was a beautiful feeling. It wasn’t clear at first what that purpose was, just that there is one, later I discovered the purpose was to wake up and live). There was no fear, only a deep sense of trust. I felt whatever is happening is happening and is ok. If I die, that’s ok, if I live and wake up in my bed where I remember falling asleep, that’s ok too, even better. There was a hint of anxiety about what if I somehow get stuck in this state and can’t wake up and don’t die and I’m just here forever(sleep paralysis always does this to me). But I chose to be positive and not let my mind dwell there, mostly I felt trust in the journey. I could feel myself cheering myself on. I felt that I had this, a feeling of “You got this self, just keep going.” I remember me in the back of my own mind keep thinking that’s right just keep going…and feeling joy each step of the way. It warms my heart now and stirs love & fuzzies in me. ❤️

Suddenly, I felt a strong force pulling the spirit version of me. I couldn’t see it but felt it. It was pulling so hard, and I realized whatever was going to happen, this was it, this was the moment I was either going to die or wake up. I still wasn’t sure which but strongly suspected I was dreaming and going to wake up. I could not move by choice. Physical me on the floor was immobilized or dead. And spirit me was being dragged somewhere by an invisible force beyond my control and felt so heavy. And the real physical me in my bed, was also immobilized. None of us could move, and we were all so heavy. (very typical of sleep paralysis but unlike sleep paralysis, there was no sense of intense fear and dread hanging over me, and no general sense of evil, ingrained throughout the dream, only curiosity, joy, determination, and a slight sense of anxiety and uncertainty, but nothing I couldn’t handle)


I did not want to admit this here (I actually wrote this for FB but posting here also) or anywhere, but I have been secretly contemplating h*nging myself recently, like seriously. I even have a cord I got for the purpose and a remote place in mind where I entertain the idea of going one night soon and ending it all. It helps me tremendously while depressed to know I have a way out and the resources needed; it’s less of a trapped feeling. Before I really did not know how/where I can go. Then it all fell into place the more desperate I got. I thought about getting the cord and did, and my concern was where without anyone around. Then I accidentally just happened to come across the perfect place one day where there isn’t a lot of activity, especially at night and in the cold. It feels so liberating just to have this potential plan even when it’s inactive. It helps ease my mind so much!! When I’m not depressed at all and am my usual happy self, I know it’s not the best idea to have this cord & place lined up for when I decide to go because it makes it much more likely for me to act on it. When I’m depressed, I don’t realize I shouldn’t act on it. When it lifts, I realize how messed up it is. But even when I’m my usual happy self, I know how much it helps me in that desperate depressed state just to have a potential way out, not just in my mind like before, but actually have the physical things necessary whether or not I go through with it. It makes all the difference. The risk of acting on it is greatly elevated though. Happy self isn’t happy about that. lol I’m not in a major episode of depression like sometimes that lasts straight through for a month or more, but keep having recurring waves of it that get bad for a few days then lift a while then return. I have felt for a while that I have no reason to live, that no matter what I do, even when it has practical purpose, it doesn’t matter, has no deeper meaning. And I struggle to give meaning to it because of my sense of inherent worthlessness. This is when my depression is flaring.

My body has been so heavy with depression, and while I still experience joy and some degree of interest in things like photography and movies and books and my work and iced lattes, it’s washed out joy, it’s here but numbed out a bit. Sometimes my depression is so bad I cannot even really tatse anything. With deep deep pain, significantly reduced pleasure and interest in things, a body that is so heavy it’s hard to move, no close friends/social support… it’s like why go on?? I keep getting so depressed about no longer having in person friends. I am very social and my happiest and healthiest when I have friends. Research even shows that lack of close friends can physically and emotionally sicken people and lack of physical touch. I am happy and well in every other aspect of life, but this is enough to depress me off and on, sometimes frequently, and permeate all of life. It eventually lifts and I am very happy again(still feeling the lack of friendship though). But it keeps coming back because I need a friend. I have been starved for the love of a friend, and my body has been starved for a hug of a friend. I don’t even have an acquaintance anymore just to hang out with. No phone calls, no texts, no meetups, no invitations anywhere, no message just to say hello or send a funny meme to make each other laugh… literally nothing. Online friends are real friends/family, but it’s not the same and doesn’t make up for in person socialization for those of us who are social/extroverted. Animals are just as important and loved, but different, animal companionship doesn’t make up for lack of human companionship just like the other way around.

Anyway, I promised into the air that if I wake up in my body in my bed, if this could just be a dream, if I’m not dying, I would try to stop giving into my depression, will get my infection treated, and try to stay alive and keep leaning into the joys all around me. That I would keep going. The spirit me was propelled then lifted into the air, up towards the ceiling. I was flying up up up beyond my control being pulled into the unknown then suddenly ripped back down and was falling falling falling so fast at lightening speed with such joy because I knew, I knew then I was alive and waking up. I knew I would find home in my own body. And dream spirit me crashed back into my body, my real body in my bed in my real house with the restroom in my room, not dream me body laying dead on that floor in that strange bathroom and hallway that isn’t mine, but the me who laid in bed, my actual bed. The real me woke with a jolt. It literally truly felt that something crashed off the ceiling into my body, giving me life. I watched and experienced in awe. Two aspects of me merging into one, making me whole, giving me life. That immobilized body in my bed could move again. I woke with a start and a smile. I was back in my soft blue comfy pj pants. The heaviness of my depression was mostly gone, and I felt immense joy, like I can go on. I fell asleep heavily depressed last night. This morning I was layers and layers lighter with a renewed will to live. I still felt the aftermath of being in a deep depression recently. When a depression lifts, if it was very severe, I may still feel some aspects of it lingering for a day or couple days, like the heaviness or a fog or some lingering self deprecating thoughts…, kind of like if you’re just getting over the flu or other physical illness and aren’t really sick anymore but still feel a vestige or hint or effects of it.

The thing that is so strange is how physical it felt. How it truly felt like a spirit or mind or something literally crashed into my body giving me life, waking me. It was so amazing!

I don’t believe in spirits or anything. I know it was my own mind making it all up. And we can dream something is touching us and wake up feeling as if it was real. I believe it was sleep paralysis. I have psychotic depression and have been hospitalized a couple occasions for it many years ago. It’s been acting up again The doctors said I had psychomotor impairment years ago because of severe depression, which can seem like sleep paralysis if we dream or hallucinate/have delusions with it. But I think it was sleep paralysis. It was still early so I fell back asleep. I had another strange dream. lol I woke up in that dream but woke up into another dream instead of reality and remembered the sleep paralysis dream I just had! So I remembered a real dream within another dream that was within a dream. I don’t know if anyone can follow that but anyway, don’t know what was going on with me last night, sounds like I was on acid or something but promise I wasn’t. 😆

I take no medication or drugs for anything currently. Will be needing antibiotics soon, and sometimes I take over the counter cold meds. That’s about it.

We don’t have to believe in spirits/evil/supernatural…to experience fear of it or believe it/feel it within the context of sleep paralysis. No matter how skeptic/atheist we are in reality, when sleep paralysis takes over and that feeling of evil is all around and we “sense” demons and stuff like that, our skepticism/atheism/logic/reason/non belief can be suspended while we are in that state, and we can feel that we are being taken by evil or a demon or taken to another dimension. Upon waking, we realize it was just a dream/sleep paralysis/night terror… whatever it was. Some people who believe in the supernatural wake up and believe they just had a terrible spiritual experience. A skeptic or atheist, like me, will not believe it during wakefulness. I don’t even necessarily believe it when it’s happening, but that does not make it any less real seeming or terrifying. But this one wasn’t terrifying.


It was a positive and enlightening and inspiring experience. I believe it was my unconscious mind sending me a message. My self sending a self love note, to keep going. I think it’s so funny that it involved a toilet and peeing. lol It’s just like me to bring humor into something and I’m immature like that and think bathroom stuff is funny 🤣 💩

The thing about this dream that was also so unusual is how my reality was incorporated into the dream and dream incorporated into my reality. In the dream I remembered just rolling over in my bed and was wondering how suddenly I got into the bathroom. And as I was walking out of the bathroom before collapsing, I was on my way back to my bed that I was just in. And my dream was incorporated into my wakefulness. The dream spirit me crashing into real me as I was waking into my reality. Like, dream state and wake state clashed, making it so bizarre and interesting. I’m sure there is scientific explanation; I think I read about it before, like when something happens during a certain stage of sleep. Maybe I wasn’t asleep enough and began to dream so wake reality and sleeping dream collided and merged, becoming a very intense, strange experience. I like it! I wouldn’t want it to keep happening or happen often though because it was too intense and engaging and wasn’t peaceful. I wouldn’t get enough rest. And there was anxiety involved. A little bit is ok, but I don’t need anxiety in my dreams every night.


And this seems like it could be a fun short movie clip if any artist out there wants to turn it into some kind of film, let me know! lol 😆 I must say, I’m quite creative while I sleep! 😴 💤 lolz

If anyone is reading and has any interesting sleep/dream/spiritual stories you have experienced, please share!! And if you want to analyze my experience and/or provide any insight, scientific or other, be my guest! I’m not interested in supernatural explanations as I don’t believe in that stuff.

💋😘❤️


And these pictures are me this morning after I truly woke up once and for all into real reality. lol

Thankfully I wasn’t actually peeing as I was dream peeing 😂

Also, I totally forgot in October to post my Halloween costume here! I will post it soon! Sexy/naughty nuns are in style all year anyway. 🖤😆

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are! ❤️ sending virtual hugs to anyone who wants.

Xoxo Kim

Amber 🖤 {a poem – inspired by my true experience}

This photo above is my glitch art. I made it myself. It’s created with a tool called pixel sorting or processing.

I wrote this around 15 years ago. My phone crashed, and I lost most of my writing. But this one survived. Losing years and years of my work was devastating. It triggered a depressive episode. After the depressive episode ended, I still couldn’t bring myself to think about writing new stuff after all the old stuff got lost. I have written more recent stuff after a while. It wasn’t necessarily good, and wasn’t for publishing or anything, but it was work I was happy to have for myself, things inspired by my real experiences.

This poem is one of the very few surviving old ones.


This poem is called Amber.

Amber

I hear her loud screams
Through the night
As the walls shake
To the sound
That reverberates
Through severed veins
Managed to be sewn
Back together
After fountains of scarlet
Pouring out
Like red wine
Tainting everything it touches

My room is almost empty
The girl who was beside me
Night after night
Has been taken away
Her clothes and things
Packed up and moved
To another place
Her arms and legs
Now in thick metal shackles
To match the invisible ones
Chaining her
To some secret hell
No one else can touch

Now I am left alone
With Amber’s psychotic
Ramblings
And violent screams
That echo through me
Like broken galaxies
Lost in the endless darkness
Of space
They stick needles into her arms
While she protests
Violently kicking and thrashing
Convulsing
She is dragged to the quiet room
Just across the hall
Where she is alone
And drifts into a deep, dark sleep
But not for long
Soon enough
She is awake
With her hysterical sobs
And her dark fears
The voices scream at her
Inside her head
I hear them too
I can feel them pulsing
Through my own body
Malicious
Demanding
Persecuting
As I sit on the edge of my bed
And stare up at the white ceiling
And blank walls
Wondering
How this place got so large
It seems to expand before my eyes
Limitless spaciousness
The vastness is almost unbearable
Making me dizzy
As the voices grow louder
More threatening
As they bounce off the walls
And back
But they all pretend they can’t hear
All they hear are her agonized screams
Through the night
That pound through my head
Her dark hair
Messy and scraggly
Her eyes filled
With dark horror
As she claws at her own face

Somewhere I know
There is a girl
Deep within her
Buried
Beneath layers and layers
Of pain, despair, fear
And screaming voices
A girl who needs and yearns
And loves
But the strange voices
Drown out her own voice
Quiet it
Until it almost seems not to exist
But I feel her
Deep within me
Her light
Dim and flickering
But still present
The doctors and nurses
And the technicians
Come into my room
Again and again
Telling me to turn off the light
Get to sleep
To forget about Amber
But the voices
Won’t let me sleep
Amber’s voices
Clash with my own
And become a choir
Of haunting screams
Something deep within me
Implodes
Like empty rooms
With walls
Closing in
Suddenly, this place
Isn’t so large anymore
It’s small and stuffy
Claustrophobic
My walls close in
And my breath quickens
Along with my pulse
Fear paralyzes me
And I can’t scream
But her screams
Still blast through me
Like the moon exploding
In a dark sky
And I get cut
On the hot celestial shards
My skin bleeds
And my heart pounds
And I am dragged away
Into a deep, dark place
Where there is nothing
But loud
Agonizing
Screams
And voices
That never sleep
Echoing all
Throughout a night
That never seems to end

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!

If you have any creative writing of your own you would like to share in the comments, be my guest! 😁

Xoxo Kim ♥️

Clowns 🤡

Clowns 🤡 – Too Much Joy – song

“I have nightmares filled with clowns and you’re there too

You have a big red nose and stupid floppy shoes

You’re becoming one I can see the signs” 🤡

Trigger Warning ⚠️: Phobias mentioned here

Fun fact: Last night, I had a dream about coulrophobia. So I decided to turn myself into a clown. Lol

In the dream, I was watching a movie about a young man with coulrophobia(fear of clowns). I don’t remember what his job was in my dream but whatever it was, his coulrophobia was interfering with his quality of work. For something to do with his job, he had to see a clown 🤡 or something if I remember correctly. His job was not actually about clowns though. It was something he usually did not have to encounter but it just happened that he had to cross paths with a clown now at work, just a coincidence. Maybe he had to visit someone’s house for work where they had a clown figure or photo? I don’t really remember much about that but whatever it was, his quality of work was greatly suffering and his boss was angry. He ordered him to be treated with exposure therapy, a form of treatment often used to treat phobias. The young man was having emotional difficulty with the exposure. He had to walk alone into a dark room in an old warehouse or factory or something like that, at night, full of life sized clown mannequins so he can get used to them and no longer be afraid. He couldn’t handle it.

In the movie in my head, his boss called him and was angrily telling him to get his shit together and stop acting like a coward and get on with it because he had work to get done. He was tired of his “nonsense.” I can still hear his voice dripping with arrogance, disdain, indifference to someone else’s suffering.

The movie in my dream was about how people who were murderers, dressed as clowns just like the clown mannequins used for his exposure, and creeped into the building and stood in the room next to the fake ones so they could eventually jump out at him during his exposure treatment. Lol It wasn’t part of the therapy and his boss wasn’t in on it. They were just psychos who somehow knew about it. They were strangers.

In my dream, I somehow got into the movie. Like it somehow turned real. But this wasn’t strange in my dream like it would have been for real. Like in reality we would be amazed, shocked, or confused if we somehow got into a movie or a movie turned real. But in my dream it was just a casual thing. The movie was all of a sudden not a movie and was real life and I was in it. I was walking into the dark room with the clowns. I knew the killers were in there since I just was watching the movie and wasn’t sure if they would lunge for me or not. But I had something to do in that room. I don’t remember what or even if I knew in the dream but I wasn’t sure if I should keep going and fulfill my obligation or turn around and leave since the killers were in there. The young man wasn’t there and I knew he would be coming soon. I think whatever I had to do was for my own job. This is realistic of me to still consider doing something that needs to be done even if it may be dangerous to me. I work with dogs and sometimes they can be aggressive. There are occasions I still considered interacting with them even when they clearly wanted to rip me to shreds. Lol And occasions I had to still feed and give them water while they were coming at me because a dog has to eat. Lol So this part of my dream makes perfect sense.

I wasn’t scared in the dream but a bit anxious and my body was tense like it was deciding it maybe should run. Then I saw some of the clowns moving and a vague thought crossed my mind like is this real or is it part of a movie I was just watching. It was like reality (the dream’s reality) and the movie blended.

So I wasn’t sure what would happen. Are they going to get me or ignore me? I had a feeling like they weren’t going to try to kill me. This is how I am for real in general, very trusting and always expecting the least bad thing to happen. I generally have this feeling like everything will work out well. I am not very anxious. I have suffered a couple bouts with anxiety but am generally not someone who is anxious. So I wasn’t extremely concerned for myself.

This feeling like this is real but also not is difficult to explain but in the dream it made sense. It was like a blend of something. Like sort of real, sort of not. I think this is common in dreams.

I think I decided not to walk into the room just in case the clowns tried to kill me. Better safe than sorry. Lol I remember walking away with this feeling of being very safe.

Then I woke up. Lol Intrigued by the dream. I don’t know what provoked that vivid and detailed dream or if there is really a movie like this but if there is one, I haven’t seen it. My head just made it up.

I had exposure therapy myself in reality, a few years ago, for debilitating claustrophobia. It began as professional treatment but I quit and handled it on my own, continuing exposure on my own terms. My claustrophobia was interfering with life because I have to get on elevators for work. There is no option sometimes to use the stairs and my claustrophobia was taking over everyday even when I did not have to get on elevators that day because I knew I would soon have to get inside them. In my dream, I sort of remembered my real life exposure therapy and how it was absolutely frightening at first and I experienced empathy and compassion for the young man. It’s like cruelty, irony, the thing we fear most in life is the very thing we must come face to face with alone, to get better.

I used to avoid elevators at all costs. I used to run up 20 or more things of stairs just to avoid them. This wasn’t a problem because I am very healthy and fit and energetic, always have been. But in college I had to get to buildings early to be able to run up 20 or more floors without being late for classes.

Sometimes that isn’t an option and stairs are blocked off. Some years ago, my claustrophobia triggered suicidal depression in me to the point I couldn’t even hold my toothbrush to brush my teeth in the mornings. I couldn’t handle knowing on any random day I may have to go into an elevator and that triggered a depressive episode that became no longer about that; the depression took on a life of its own. So I was struggling with a severe depressive episode on top of a bad, bad case of claustrophobia.

I grew up claustrophobic for an unknown reason. I have been for as long as I can remember, mostly about elevators. But it was rarely a problem because I rarely had any reason to have to get into them. So it may not have been able to be diagnosed as claustrophobia back then. Sometimes I had to avoid visiting people in hospitals because I couldn’t get into an elevator to the hospital room. On the occasions I did force myself, I would have some psychiatric breakdown. I have collapsed in crippling panic and have embarrassed family in front of strangers at the mere thought of getting into an elevator. Now I think it’s hilarious, especially embarrassing my mom and dad. One day when I was little we were all on a glass elevator with a stranger and I began to panic. I screamed at the top of my lungs and began kicking and flailing my arms and yelling let me out, let me out, let me out….just to go up two floors. The stranger turned and just stared in shock. My mom and dad were so embarrassed. ” My mom yelled, “Kim, you did NOT have to act like that!!!” It gives me a good belly laugh now when I remember it. 🤣😂😭😄😹 I remember my body flooded with sweet relief when that door opened.

All these years later, if I wanted to keep my job, I had to get over it. And I did. Years of claustrophobia gone in just a few weeks of simple regular exposure. Exposure works wonders, at least for me. It made me realize how something so powerful and debilitating is actually very, very weak.

Whenever I had to step into an elevator, it felt like I was going to die. My mouth dried up and always tasted like metal, like literally tasting fear. My entire body felt squeezed in the chokehold of death. The fear is so powerful it feels like I would *literally* go insane, like lose all sense of language and awareness and bodily movements. I felt like I could claw out my own eyes and claw off my own skin. And one day I actually did claw my own skin off when I was in an elevator alone as a teenager. There was no way out of the building unless I got into an elevator. I went into a panic and just mindlessly began ripping my skin off with my fingernails. Everything turned white like this blinding light around my head. I couldn’t see or think. All I could do was claw at my own body, my arms and ab, all bleeding when I finally stepped out of the elevator.

Welcome to my nightmare. 🖤

(almost had a cow when I saw this a couple years ago 😳 🤣 Just sitting there, doors wide open as if to tempt me; it felt like it was watching me, daring me. Lol It’s an old out of service elevator in a building I visit for work. It hasn’t been in use for some years and is in a strange place, not near the rest of the elevators and looks all old and dingy while the rest are newer looking and its doors are ALWAYS closed. But one day, I walk by and the doors are open! Holy guacamole! My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. Luckily my claustrophobia was already healed by then but this thing made it want to come back 🤣😭😹 Some things you just can’t unsee)

It has always felt like an eternity before the doors opened again and a sense of deep, deep dread and despair & regret as I watched them close on me.

It’s a kind of fear that knocks the wind out of me and takes my whole breath away. I have been in awe at how powerful it is.

I had a relapse once after mostly recovering when it seemed like an elevator door took a second too long to open, when I was inside by myself. It came back with a vengeance. It was way worse than before. I got mostly rid of the claustrophobia on my own by getting into elevators with dogs and found it healing. Then it came back then the regular exposure on my own helped significantly.

Now even if a door seems to take longer to open, I don’t have breakdowns or relapses. I get into elevators everyday by myself with no problems at all and find them very peaceful. Like a very brief reprieve where the outside world and all its problems and noise and stress and drama can’t touch me.

I love how a place that once felt so dark and cold and deadly is now a place of warmth and security like being wrapped in a cozy blanket.

There are some random occasions, I am a bit anxious with elevators and avoid them or sometimes suck it up and get into them anyway. But it’s not frequent. And not severe. I know if I am already anxious about something else, something unrelated, and have to get into an elevator, it sometimes triggers the claustrophobia but it goes away again. I believe if I ever stop getting into elevators for a long while then I do again, the claustrophobia may come back. I have experienced this already. So I try to get into them as much as possible to keep it away. It’s a lifelong condition that has to be controlled with regular exposure or I will go insane with fear again.

I don’t know what is up with this dream. Lol But it reminds me a bit of my own real experience. Even the old, dark warehouse where the clowns were. My work office used to be in one. Lol

I am not afraid of clowns and never have been. This wasn’t a scary dream at all. It wasn’t a nightmare even though it may seem like it. I don’t usually have dark or scary dreams. They’re usually positive, happy, or mundane. Though I have been plagued off and on, for as long as I can remember, by nightmares about being inside elevators and being stuck in them, sometimes with people, usually alone. Or sometimes terrifying dreams knowing I will soon be getting into an elevator. Sometimes I wake myself up before it happens or I force myself awake after I get into one if I can. I still have them on rare occasions but almost never since the claustrophobia went away. They are horrifying dreams and just dreadful. I had them since I was little even when I did not have to get into elevators and haven’t been recently in one. My brain just obsessed with them for some reason. I don’t ever remember any unpleasant experience with elevators that made this happen, just grew up with it. My earliest memories are terror when near an elevator. Couldn’t even bring myself to look at them walking by. I used to curse whoever invented them. I felt like that person destroyed my life sometimes.

This dream is bizarre for me because I don’t usually have them like this and it seems a bit creative. I’m not someone who is a creative writer or anything. So I don’t know why my head made this up.

Very recently, like just over one week ago, I saw the word “heliophobia” and looked it up to see what it is(a fear of the sun or bright light) and while scrolling, the word “coulrophobia” showed up. I think this is what inspired the dream but don’t know why just seeing that word and a pic of a clown holding balloons would inspire a whole story in my head while I sleep. Lol It’s heliophobia I was was interested in, not the clown one.

And the dream was very, very vivid. I remember the clowns and their faces and their pastel colored pj’s and balloons.🎈 And I remember the young man very clearly but don’t remember ever seeing him for real in person. I read before that all faces we see in dreams are real faces we saw at one point in life, even if years ago. It doesn’t mean in the dream they were who they are in reality, just that the face is real. I don’t know if it’s true.

Horror movies are my guilty pleasure, which I think also contributed to the dream, and I think this would be a good movie! 😍

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever you are!

Xoxo Kim 💜

Just breathe 💙🕉

Mozart: Canzonetta Sull’aria – YouTube song 🎵

Relaxing songs list – website

How to use 4-7-8 breathing for anxiety – website

Diaphragmatic Breathing – Short youtube video to quickly learn how to breathe most effectively

(Content/possible trigger warning ⚠️: In part of this post, I briefly & lightly mention BDSM, a kink, where people, with consent, may be t**d up, usually in a s*xual context. It’s nothing graphic that I explain but just mentioning something to do with breathing that I learned in a fiction book about BDSM, that helps with meditation. But anyone who has experienced trauma may be triggered even by non graphic things, even by seeing certain words so I may block some things out with *** It’s important to face triggers but only when ready as possible, not by suddenly seeing a post on the internet when not in the frame of mind. Also, some asexual people do not want to encounter anything that has anything to do with s*x even if they weren’t traumatized because it’s icky or repulsive to them[not prudes at all, just grossed out and/or tired of hearing about the s*x constantly when it’s not in someone’s nature to want/crave it].

I’ll put a warning before the mention of the BDSM so any trauma survivors or aces can skip it. And I will put the caution signs ⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ at the end so anyone who skips can see where it ends and continue reading.)

“The 4-7-8 breathing technique, also known as ‘relaxing breath,’ involves breathing in for 4 seconds, holding the breath for 7 seconds, and exhaling for 8 seconds.“

This is a very simple and powerful technique to stop anxiety in its tracks. Of course, it may not work for every single person but is effective for many, if not most. For me, it works instantly.

I haven’t been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder and never struggled with general anxiety but I have suffered a six month long battle with debilitating health anxiety in 2019. And in 2015 I lost my close friend unexpectedly to a heart attack and after that have struggled with bouts of anxiety off and on and fear of others I know all of a sudden dying. Every now and again but not frequently, I have this terrible suffocating fear arise that someone I know will die soon or is dying right now or will suffer an illness. It’s something that comes and goes and even though it’s not constant or usually frequent, it is difficult to bear when it does occur. It can feel like it will never end and like I am the only one in the world suffering it. I have also struggled with crippling claustrophobia, which I have conquered on my own as I frequently must get on elevators for work. It was important for me to heal it.

So while I don’t have anxiety as badly or frequently as some people and don’t currently have a disorder, I know what it’s like to be plagued by anxiety sometimes. I believe my experience with health anxiety in 2019 would have been diagnosed as a fullblown disorder if I would have asked for help. It takes extreme strength and courage to battle anxiety. It’s a display of strength and courage to live with anxiety, NOT a sign of weakness or cowardice. People with anxiety are forced to be stronger than people without anxiety have to be, yet often feel we are weak and cowardly if we are anxious and fearful. There is no way we would be surviving it each second if we were weak minded. It takes emotional and physical strength to endure. To me, it’s worse than depression and I have suffered severe depression off and on for years. It’s difficult to imagine the strength of anxiety survivors who live with it regularly. Just six months for me was nearly unbearable.

My anxiety when it arises, more often than not, manifests as physical sensations and emotions as opposed to thoughts. Because of this, mine may be easier to calm down when it does arise than if I had deeply rooted fears and thoughts.

My heart pounds, nearly out of my chest, my breathing becomes shallow, my head spins, and bolts of fear run up and down my body, heart palpitations, and I have this terrible feeling that someone I know is dying, near death, or will soon die. Sometimes it lasts off and on for days, usually just off and on in one day. It tends to be worse at night and early mornings when it is occurring. And sometimes my health anxiety for my own self tries to return and convince me I have cancer. It’s absolutely frightening and life destroying when it’s constant like in 2019. I developed uncontrollable rituals each day, incessantly checking for lumps and marks on my body. I stayed on Google day and night reading about diseases and looking at pictures of diseases I was convinced I had. It was a fullblown obsession. How I survived those six months, I still don’t know.

When it’s out of control, it’s very difficult to meditate or just breathe so best to catch it when a symptom or episode is just beginning, or beginning to worsen, or not quite as intense. When my heart begins to pound or those bolts of fear ripple up and down my body, I do the 4-7-8 breathing technique and instantly my body calms. It’s not a cure, of course, but a good way to get instant relief and if it becomes a habit, it may just be a “cure” for some or at least make anxiety less frequent. It’s just it can be difficult finding the motivation or time to make it an ingrained habit. Or for many, their anxiety is just generally too severe to be able to sit there and breathe, mindfully.

But for me, it does work. When I’m out walking, if I am hit with fear or panic or anxious sensations, I do that breathing technique. Also, I haven’t made it a habit yet but at night/morning, I listen to a peaceful song/music and do the breathing technique even if I am not currently anxious. It’s very pleasant and can prevent anxiety. It instills in me a peaceful sensation all throughout.

One thing to be mindful of is if we meditate only infrequently or haven’t in a while, meditation may bring out more fear or anxiety or anger or sadness or grief…, because we have emotions and responses to everyday life and certain experiences already inside us and often pent up. Meditation will loosen it up and bring it all to the surface/consciousness like a plunger loosening all the contents in a sink or toilet. Lol It may make it seem like meditation or mindfulness is a bad thing or just not for us. But could just be we have to meditate more often. Everyday we experience things and our emotional reactions no matter how serious or not, build up. We get cut off in traffic, we drop things, we spill coffee on our white shirt, we see someone almost get hit by a car running across a street, we hear a loud noise that startles us, our coworker says something that ticks us off, we may remember someone dying years ago and feel current distress or sadness about it…all of our emotional reactions to these things stay inside us even if we quickly forget them. Then meditation brings it all out later and we may feel the stress, anger, fear for a while after a meditation session but it’s actually a good thing as all those emotions need a release.

Shoulder blade squeeze

As I mention when promoting breathing exercises, I suggest people who are physically able to, as long as it’s safe for them, do the shoulder blade exercise at the beginning to open up the airways and make breathing easier and deeper.

⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️⚠️ ⚠️

Some years ago, I read a fiction legal thriller series of books by Stephen Penner, for fun and learned an invaluable life tip. In one of the books, the medical examiner, character, Dr. Kat Anderson, explained that putting our arms back like that opens the chest cavity and helps us breathe better. In the book a woman was accidentally killed by her man while they were engaging in BDSM, a kink where they tie each other up and stuff; it looks and sounds violent but is usually safe and is one hundred percent consensual.

The characters were hooking up and he tied her arms back with her consent and he accidentally killed her. The doctor explained how she would have died sooner if not for her arms being tied back like that. The reason she died is he choked her (with her consent) and since her arms were back, she was breathing better so lived longer. I realized I can do that before meditations to make me breathe more deeply and just randomly throughout the day and then a professional fitness trainer told me the same thing, to do that all day, everyday. It aids in our breathing.

⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️END⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️

So put your arms straight at your sides then lift them to your waist, bend the elbows and squeeze shoulder blades for five seconds then loosen for a few seconds then do the same again however many sessions you see fit. Don’t shrug your shoulders while squeezing the shoulder blades. That isn’t necessary and may not be safe or effective.

This is only for people who can safely do this, don’t have pain or physical limitations, have arms…I understand this isn’t for everyone. I think the average person can do this though. Remember for counting seconds, 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi….I learned this is elementary school just saying one two three is less than a second so put the Mississippi after and it’s closest to one second. 😁

This song in the YouTube video above, Mozart: Canzonetta Sull’aria, is one of my favorite ones to meditate to. It’s beautiful and peaceful and scientifically shown to be one of the most relaxing songs on Earth. Weightless – ten hour version or Weightless – eight minutes version is the actual most relaxing (scientifically proven) and I love that one too. But this one is a bit too relaxing and can make us sleepy or go to sleep. I’m not always trying to go to sleep after meditation. Sometimes I’m meditating in the morning or afternoon or out walking or before work and Weightless isn’t a good idea those occasions. But it’s great right before sleep or if it doesn’t matter if we are sleepy.

When breathing, only the abdomen should move, not the chest. And breathing should always be inhaling through the nose with the stomach expanding and exhaling through the mouth with stomach deflating. It’s called diaphragmatic breathing and does matter. It’s the proper way to breathe, the most healthy, but most of us don’t breathe that way and our breathing is shallow. Diaphragmatic breathing is best for coping with pain and anxiety and just the healthiest in all of life.

Remember to breathe as slowly and deeply as possible, especially breathing out. It takes practice. And remember to gently bring your wandering mind back to breath. That takes practice too. Everyone without exception will have a wandering mind, even those experienced with meditation. It’s just the nature of the human mind. It’s not a flaw or something worthy of self criticism. It’s just important to catch it as best as we can because before we know it our allotted meditation time is over and was taken up daydreaming of our lunch later, or some task at work tomorrow, or stores we have to visit. Again, not a flaw! And not an indication that we aren’t good at mediation. It happens to everyone who tries to meditate or do breathwork. It’s just important to get into the habit of catching it as much as possible for mediation to be most effective.

Anyone who tries meditation or breathwork is successful. Just taking that step to better our own self and be better for those around us is an accomplishment.

Hugs, love, inner peace, and light to all! 💗

Xoxo Kim