I'm a gifted adult survivor of child abuse by my adopted parents, who left me with chronic depression, PTSD, and a touch of autism for good measure. Here I examine the fragments of my past. It's enlightening but not pleasant. You've been warned.

If you want to see my lighter sides, here's a list of my other blogs:

We Have Always Lived in a Homeschool my blog about homeschooling my three gifted children

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Monday, December 23, 2013

Looks Like Anger, Feels Like Grief

I've felt strange lately.  I'm highly over-sensitized for one thing.  Ever since my illness this fall I've heard my pulse pounding constantly in my ear.  It never stops.   Every thing scratches at my skin even when they are clean.

I can't sleep at night.  I'll toss and turn for hours, then drag through the day too tired to do anything.  Exercise doesn't help.  Neither does sex.

Exhaustion makes me forgetful, resentful, short-tempered and snappish.  It looks like I'm constantly angry, but I'm not angry at all.  I just REALLY NEED SLEEP. LIKE NOW!

But there is an emotion I feel.  It started as a trickle, something so deeply buried I hardly new it was there.  But for months it's been getting closer to the surface, rising higher and higher inexorably until now it's all I see, stretching out away from me far into the distance.

It's grief.

Grief over being abandoned and abused by my adopters.

A grief that's always been there but that I've never allowed myself to feel before.  A grief so large it dwarfs and flattens every other emotion in my life, smashing them into unrecognizable shapes.

I can't reach my other feelings right now.  I know what's supposed to be there, what I've felt before.  I know from memory what I feel in my heart.  But my actual moment-to-moment feelings are completely swamped.

My husband told me, "I know this is something you've needed to work through since before we met.  I know you're changing.  But what's manifesting right now looks like anger and resentment at the whole world."  And all I can do is hug him and thank the Goddess he is willing to hang on for the ride.

Because right now it feels like there's an ocean of grief that I have to drain through my tear ducts.  The enormity of the task fills me with despair.

Merry Christmas.


  1. I've been there and just want to give you a hug and say you are brave and will get through it alive and better for will surface through the darkness again and it will seem like a dream much like our entire lives. Keep writing.