I feel a bit better, physically, and that is somewhat refreshing.

I managed to get one thing done: I arranged for money to go to The Boy for school shopping. I am still working on the same issue for C. It’s more complicated than you might think. Partly because no one will do simple things I’d like them to do. Some of this I understand. Some of this I don’t. It doesn’t really matter what I think. Things are what they are.

I asked my friend to make a call to C or her grandmother and just tell her to take money for school shopping, because C can’t approach my friend and ask even if I tell her to ask. My friend wanted to know how much. Well, I wasn’t sure yet. I wanted to find out what C needed, but she won’t answer the phone now. None of this solves my problem, which has to do with C imaging a Y-town where I am not there to take care of her and getting some kind of reassurance.

So that is stalled.

Anyway, I felt somewhat optimistic during the morning, got a bit of tidying up done, felt like my day might be somewhat productive. I swept the front porch, and my friend came to say something to me related to another topic. She said then, “Can I get you to use the outdoor broom.” There is an outside broom, which sucks and is wet at the moment, and an inside broom. Well, of course, she can. It’s her house and her brooms. I don’t understand the reasoning behind two brooms, especially since the one designated for harder work is more difficult to use. But I don’t know that I need to. It’s a small thing. She asked nicely, and it’s her house.

I feel so hurt though, and my mind is in this place where I am just unsalvageably bad. Nothing really to do with the broom. I just wandered off into that place. The broom was perhaps a fork in the road, and I went down crazy lane at that point.

I struggled with this for a while—wrote in my journal, which I was planning to do anyway. Cried some. I am trying to stay focused on the felt sensations in my body, which seems to help. They don’t go away when I do that, but it seems to keep them more moderated and my mind runs less wild.

Well, I wonder. It brought me to such an intense place of sadness and shame and self-hatred, and it feels so permanent, so much like that is some kind of core me. I wonder why. Maybe it is the core me in the sense that my emotions are not shut down when I am in this place. I am not numbing any part of myself. Maybe it feels more true, because to know that I feel that way, all of my emotions and senses need to be on. Nothing can be shut down. It isn’t the content that is true. It’s the state of not repressing parts of myself.

Why I might need to repress parts of myself at other times is a different story, but I think there is something to this. Authenticity is about being fully aware of my emotional state and maybe when trauma issues grip me, I am not able to sustain the dissociation that gets me through the day. Only somewhat by choice, my defenses are overwhelmed and I cease functioning, but the experience of feeling is real. That would make it feel real, like that is the “real” me—nothing to do with the thought though.

I don’t know where to go from here. If I am nearly always shutting down some degree of pain or some aspect of trauma memory, what do I do? It shouldn’t have to hurt so much of the time. There should be a way to live authentically without hurting.