Relationship Triangles

My mom bought a card for me to give to my aunt for her birthday and has been nagging reminding me to mail it. She says she wants to make my aunt feel good/special on her birthday and it’s very important, etc. etc. etc.

Which is all well and good. I get where she’s coming from. But I’m an adult now; I need to have adult relationships with my family members. I wasn’t thinking of getting my aunt a card, to be honest – I just planned to write “happy birthday” on her Facebook. However that might have made influenced her to feel is – or at least should be – between my aunt and me. But with my family, that’s not always the case…

I’ve noticed a pattern with how my mother and I relate, and I’ve finally figured out a concrete way to express it. In the image below, “Aunt A” could really be replaced with just about anyone, including my husband.

relationship triangle

ways of relating with my mom and a third person

The first (left) triangle simply illustrates that there are 3 people involved. Notice that Mom and I are closer to each other than to whomever the third person happens to be. This represents our enmeshment.

The second (middle) triangle shows what healthy relationships would look like. I have a 2-way relationship with my mom, independent of the third person. Mom and I each have a 2-way relationship with the third person, independent of each other. This is what I want, what seems most natural and logical to me, what I tend to see happening regardless of what the reality may be.

The third (right) triangle shows what’s been happening; I’ve noticed it in this case and when she nags encourages me to remind/help/coerce Fox (my husband) to do certain things. She has the healthy 2-way relationship with the third person (blue line), whether she chooses to use it or not. (She uses it with Aunt A – her sister – but I think she tends to ignore it when dealing with Fox.) And she uses me to influence the third person. I represent this in the image with a line that literally covers most of the word “Me,” making me invisible. The line is a shade of green that I consider repulsive, to demonstrate that this way of relating is unhealthy.

the third relationship triangle by itself

the third relationship triangle by itself

I didn’t draw the line representing my healthy 2-way relationship with Aunt A in the third triangle. If I had, then Mom’s green line would be obscuring that, too. She’s not just extending her power in her relationships by using me – she’s also controlling my relationships. I think this is the more important point – at least for me.

I’ve tried talking to her about it. I set a boundary by telling her that if she has an issue with Fox, then she should talk to him about it and not me. I told her that I would rather pick out my own card to send Aunt A for her birthday. I even told her I felt like I was being controlled.

But I’m not sure how to get to the root of what’s going on, except perhaps to show her this post. The boundary I truly need to set goes so much deeper than birthday cards or even in-person conversations about important things that Fox should be doing on his own without reminders from Mom or me. It has to do with me as a separate person, me with my own relationships. It’s saying she can’t use me as a way of relating to or influencing other people. She has to rely on her own (abundant) resources. She has to be honest with them.

And it’s taking responsibility for my own relationships. I get a lot of my family news from her (e.g. “How’s my godmother doing?”) and rely on her to convey messages (e.g. “Tell her I love her.”). I need to communicate directly with people I care about. I know that; it’s a work-in-progress.

But at least I’m honest about it. I don’t put her in the position of having to pretend she’s not conveying a message from me.

To be fair, I guess the most accurate relationship triangle with my mom and a third person would look something like this:

a more accurate relationship triangle with Mom and another person

a more accurate relationship triangle with Mom and a third person

That’s a lot of a repulsive shade of green being pointed at someone Mom and I both care about! It’s obscuring both Mom and me and hurting all our relationships – especially our relationship to each other (double whammy!). That’s not okay.

But now I can see it, and that’s the first step toward doing something about it. This is one of the many resources I’ve gained from therapy.

Building a Future Together

Fox and I had a productive marriage counseling session today. We talked about how the stuff we’re doing now is working toward the future we want to create together.

It started with me expressing concern that he comes home from work so exhausted – and has such low energy on his days off – that I’m worried he will never “have the energy” to find an internship. (He needs the internship to complete his degree and enter the career that is his calling.) But he explained that right now working full time is important to him because it provides us with some income and financial stability. When the time is right he will cut back on his work hours to make finding and fulfilling an internship more feasible.

This was very helpful to me because I was seeing the situation as either-or: either he’s pouring all his energy into a dead-end job that’s currently paying less than the local, recently-increased minimum wage… or he’s doing nothing until he manages to find an internship, which might take a while. He helped me see that the situation is more complex: right now he’s pouring all his energy into the job, but over time he can put less energy into the job and more into pursuing his long-term career goals. There can be a more gradual transition; it doesn’t have to be an abrupt ending.

Similarly for me: I don’t have to go from living in Skyrim to taking classes and being in various extracurricular groups and applying for internships and trying to find a job. Right now, taking classes again is enough of a leap. I’ve decided to try joining two LGBTQ+ discussion groups that each meet on campus for an hour once a week. They are the definition of low stress: no homework, show up when you can, have a conversation, and leave. One is for LGBTQ+ students and their allies to socialize. The other is specifically for bisexual, pansexual, non-binary trans*, and other gender-queer people to talk about sexuality and identity. Of the groups offered, it’s the one that sounds like it was designed for me.

In our session I said that I’m taking my classes and I’m going to see how they go, then possibly build on that as seems appropriate. Maybe I’ll love and feel so empowered by my experiences, I’ll decide I’m ready to apply for internships. Same possibility with jobs. Maybe something will come to me once I’m out in the world doing things and interacting with people again. Or maybe I’ll just need to focus on my classes, and setting boundaries around them will help me feel like I’m asserting myself and taking control of my own life. I am in the driver’s seat. It’s up to me where, via what route, and how fast I go.

Individually, we are figuring out what works in terms of current occupational focus and future occupational goals. Together, we are supporting each other and making decisions that move us in the direction of our joint goals. For example, my hormones have been throwing increasingly disruptive temper tantrums demanding that I procreate as soon as possible.  Most recently, they convinced me to decide what I’m naming my first child – so now ze has a name; ze is an entity I’m denying entrance into the world.

I don’t know whether Fox’s hormones are also clamoring for babies, but he remains the voice of reason: “not yet.” It empowers my own, internal voice of reason: “we can’t take care of ourselves, yet. Let’s get really good at doing that before bringing a new life into this world.” Having a baby now would be a complete disaster financially, emotionally, for both our careers… it wouldn’t be healthy for anyone involved.

So together we make the decision to wait. Together we do what we can to meet each other’s needs. Together we build the foundation for our future family.

It felt good to have an idea of what the future might look like, for once. Too often it looks dark and empty, nebulous. I’ve been having trouble being creative and my experiences have taught me that nothing is guaranteed; my wanting something to happen has no influence on whether it will happen. So how can I decide what my future will look like? I can’t. It’s just… formless. A waiting void.

But I can put things in that void. They might not happen how I expect – if at all – but I can put them there and work toward them and feel good about knowing we’re building something together. Kind of like improvising: I know what sound I think should come next, but it isn’t always what my fingers end up playing. When I make a “mistake” I incorporate it into the improvisation, so what was unintentional becomes intentional – possibly a central motif! I might build an entire song out of something I never even meant to play. So with life… it’s not about knowing what exactly will be there, just that something will – and it will be something we work together not only to create, but to continuously shape.

After our session, I noticed that I was becoming very irritable. I kind of snapped at Fox for slamming the car door, and again for being indecisive when it was time to order lunch. He caught public transportation to work and I came home; by the time I got here I felt like I was being subjected to nails on a chalkboard. Cardio exercise helped me clear my mind while I was doing it, but didn’t have any lasting effect on my mood. I was very agitated and all the sounds were making it worse.

I suspected I may have been experiencing symptoms of withdrawal from Lamictal, which from what I read can be quite the nightmare. (I had abruptly stopped taking my 75 mg dose, per the APN’s orders, on Monday.) Part of my mind was clamoring for me to take a 25 mg pill to take the edge off. Part of me was thinking that if this is what withdrawal from such a low dose is like, maybe it’s better for me not to be on it at all.

The thing is, I have my classes, and I have all the stuff I just wrote about. Plus, Fox and I have been talking about adopting a new pair or trio of rats; we want to raise them from as young as possible this time. Last night we learned that a nearby rescue has several newborn babies that will need homes within the next six weeks (once they’re weaned); that gives us time to prepare but also a nice kick in the pants to do so. Our past pet rats brought a lot of joy to our lives, so we’re hopeful about adopting again. (I also hope that having pets to care for might get my hormones to quiet down a bit!)

So I can’t be going through withdrawal symptoms right now. I just can’t. I need to be able to focus and direct my energy at what’s important to me and enjoy my time with Fox. Things snowball and become horrible when I’m irritable toward him (which is different from when I’m justifiably angry – then we can talk and come to a new understanding).

I felt guilty about “bothering” the APN’s office again, but I also felt like I was going crazy and needed to do something about it immediately! The only way I was going to get the help I needed was by asserting myself. So I called and said I needed to talk to the APN about my medication.

I actually got to talk to her right away! and it was very helpful. Ironically, I still don’t know which risk factors prompted her to take me off the lamotrigine – just that she had weighed the risks and benefits and thought I’d be better off not taking it. She asked if I had a rash – so maybe that’s it?

Anyways, I told her that I thought it had been helping me at least somewhat, particularly by decreasing my suicidal thoughts. She said, “Oh, I hadn’t realized it was so helpful to you. I’m glad to hear that.” She instructed me to start taking 25 mg again. I considered arguing for 50 mg, but I didn’t want to push it. Maybe I am better off at the lower dose?

I still have enough of the medication to take 25 mg every day until after our next appointment, so I was able to start taking it again right away. I feel much better – in part, I think, from expressing all this stuff, being listened to, and getting my desired result. I’m calmer, less irritable. I can think more clearly. Life is good.

Feim Zii Grom! (Become Ethereal)

trigger warning: pressure from medical professionals to lose weight, a potentially suicidal thought
content notes: From this point on, assume I’m being sarcastic, unless otherwise indicated.

I’m so grateful to my APN for forcing me to schedule a sleep study at the particular center she chose! I met the most wonderful doctor ever at my consultation. He had the miraculous ability to diagnose me with obstructive sleep apnea before conducting an actual sleep study, based on my answers to a few questions – and my weight!

Did you know that losing weight will solve all of my problems, including but not limited to sleep apnea! Clearly my lifelong history of depression, irritability, and anxiety are the result of my recent weight gain (which caused the sleep apnea) and not a lifetime of difficult family dynamics, codependency, emotional & physical abuse, and painful losses I never fully mourned. If I just lose weight, the sleep apnea will go away and I’ll be a happy, healthy, energetic, fully-functional adult! I’m so excited I want to go bake some cookies – but I won’t eat them!

[not sarcastic: Okay, I need to take a breather. *takes deep breath* My ability to put on this false, overly-cheerful tone is scaring me.]

I thought I was going to learn more about what the sleep study will entail: what kinds of tests they’ll run, what I’ll be expected to do, what treatment options might be proposed. Maybe a boring discussion about “practical” things like what my insurance is likely to cover and how I can access whatever I’ll need to get a better night’s sleep… why would I ever want that?

I’m so glad that instead, I got a lovely lecture on how weight loss could help me. You know, there really is an unfortunate shortage of information about dieting and what ideal bodies look like in this culture. I could almost cry to think of how fortunate I’ll be to have the opportunity to consult with a nutritionist and learn things about healthy eating that aren’t plastered all over the internet and every physical object that stands still long enough!

Even more exciting is the idea of having an exercise regimen! Ooh! The word “regimen” inspires so much joyful anticipation in me! I wonder how many crunches I’ll have to do each day, and how frequently the number will increase. Most of all, I look forward to seeing the expressions of disappointment and hearing the additional lectures about how important weight loss is every time the number on the scale isn’t what they’ve determined it should be. I just revel to think of it!

[not sarcastic: Actually, if they require me to adhere to an exercise regimen and be held accountable to someone else for weight loss – especially if treatment for my very real and serious mood disorder is contingent upon my successful compliance – I will … be dangerously tempted to kill myself.

also not sarcastic: By the way, there is one area in which I’m fairly confident taking Lamictal/lamotrigine was helping me: it reduced my suicidal ideation a great deal. I went from having suicidal thoughts almost every day and urges more frequently than I’d like to admit, to only occasionally having suicidal thoughts and rarely having suicidal urges. Even with all the stressful stuff I’ve been writing about, the temptation to harm myself has been a lot less severe than it was before I started taking this medication.]

Think you’re excited now? Just wait until you learn what happens next! When I – like practically everyone else – fail miserably at my attempts to intentionally lose weight, I can try bariatric surgery! (or, as Chrome’s spell checker wants to call it, “barbaric” surgery!) I can’t wait to trade in treatable conditions like sleep apnea for new long-term complications like low blood sugar, malnutrition, ulcers, and death (rare)! Equally exciting is the opportunity to struggle (for the rest of my life) with the same dieting I failed at when trying to lose weight without surgical interventions…

By far, the best part of today’s consultation was the rapport I developed with this amazing doctor. I was worried that he might listen to me when I told him about how my past efforts to intentionally lose weight have resulted in long-term weight gain. It would have been so terrible if he had respected my silly assertion that I “don’t” want to have bariatric surgery.

Ah, what a relief it is to have a doctor who dismisses my clearly-stated preference to receive treatment for the condition that brought me to his office in the first place. I’m so glad he spent most of our time together advertising for a surgeon he knows. Now I have the name and number of a doctor I may never be able to afford, and who most certainly doesn’t take my health insurance! I have never been more blessed.

I can’t wait to go to the surgeon’s free seminar and plead with him to take mercy on my poor obese soul by mutilating my body for a reduced cost. Perhaps he will take pity on me by referring me to a butcher whose fees are within my meager budget. I shall commence saving for it immediately. I know! Let’s use the money we foolishly used to spend on groceries! That should kill two birds with one stone.

[not sarcastic: I wish I’d read Ragen Chastain’s recent post, When You Have to Confront Weight Stigma before going to the consultation this morning. I could have brought her cards from What to Say at the Doctor’s Office with me. Maybe they would have helped me keep the focus of the sleep study consultation on my need for help getting a better night’s sleep! At least I know of these resources for next time, and now you do, too!]

Fus Ro Dah!

Since writing my last post and looking at lists of Lamictal/lamotrigine side effects, I’ve done a 180 and no longer feel safe taking my medication. Part of me believes it is a lot easier than confronting the APN about her decision to have me stop taking the medication. Part of me believes that I’ve been experiencing side effects the whole time and either ignoring them, not attributing them to the medication, or acknowledging them and attributing them to the medication but refusing to admit that maybe this isn’t the right medication.

All of me is angry at the APN, psychopharmacology, and the entire “healthcare” system: all doctors, their administrative staff, and especially managed care… I want to say I know it’s irrational, but is it, really? My blood pressure and heart rate are high and that’s set off some alarms regarding the medication… but maybe it’s due to the stress of trying to access medical care!

There isn’t really anywhere for this anger and the accompanying destructive urges to go. The APN’s office is closed for the federal holiday, so the earliest I might be able to talk to her is tomorrow. I have too much other stuff on my plate to waste time trying to get in touch with someone as flaky and dismissive as her! Verbally abusing anyone else would be mean and probably backfire. Physical acts of aggression, homicide, arson, etc. would take way too much effort. I’d rather play Skyrim. Shouting at people in that game is a lot more satisfying, and if it isn’t enough I can set them on fire with my mind.

So I’m just fed up with the whole thing and the thought of swallowing their b.s. in the form lamotrigine dispersal tablets makes me sick! I checked, online sources state that stopping lamotrigine without slowly reducing the dose first is safe for people who are being treated for bipolar, but not epilepsy. (do NOT take this as medical advice! Always talk to your doctor before stopping a medication.) Given the alternatives, I’d rather say “fuck you!” to medication and harness the energy from my anger to be awesome at my classes than keep taking something that may be making me sick.

There is a quiet voice in the back of my head saying that maybe it’s the therapeutic effects of the medication that have helped me get to this point. But my symptoms haven’t been much better than before I started taking it, and I’m inclined to attribute the ups and downs to the circumstances of my life. I can’t tell if it’s making a difference, so maybe it’s not. “There’s no point in taking it just to take it.” Right?

I’ve been wasting too much time and energy on this. There are about a million better things I could be doing!

Dismissed

I had another appointment with the APN on Friday. She took my blood pressure – which was a bit high, both for me and based on the health guidelines I’m aware of – and said it was “fine.”

Then she asked how I’ve been. I told her about being tired and unmotivated to do anything; sometimes I don’t even feel motivated to play Skyrim. I tried to put it in the context of everything that’s been going on: the stress of the holidays and then everything just stopping. I told her when I’m very depressed there’s less anxiety because I don’t want to do anything so there’s nothing to be anxious about, but when I’m less depressed and starting to want to do things I feel anxious about them. (To be honest I’m not sure that’s entirely true. I experience different kinds of anxiety. But I didn’t express this to her.) I also told her about the ominous voice twisting all the imagery in the guided meditation into things I found threatening. I told her I’m both excited and anxious about my classes starting next week: excited because I’ll have some structure in my life and anxious because of the responsibilities. (Not to mention my social anxiety.)

As I was talking about this stuff, she was making notes on the computer (facing away from me). Then she looked back through her notes from past appointments and the information I’d provided in the intake paperwork before our first meeting. She weighed me and told me I’m a candidate for sleep apnea. She told me to go get blood work done so she could see if there is a problem with my thyroid or something (past blood work has ruled that out, but I haven’t been able to show her the printout to prove it). She also called a sleep center for me and handed me the phone, basically forcing me to make an appointment for a sleep study.

Okay, I’ve been dragging my heels, I can kind of understand her being a bit heavy handed. But the next thing she did utterly terrified me.

She told me to stop taking the Lamictal/lamotrigine. She said I’m “sensitive” to it and it doesn’t seem to be helping. “There’s no point in taking medication just to take it.”

That’s it. No plan for slowly reducing my dose over time to minimize withdrawal symptoms. No concern over what effects suddenly stopping Lamictal might have on me. Granted, I’m only taking 75 mg, but we’ve worked our way up to that dose very slowly. If I’m “sensitive” to it, doesn’t that increase my chances of being “sensitive” to suddenly not taking it?

I honestly don’t know if it’s helping. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s wreaking havoc on my central nervous system and I should stop taking it immediately. She didn’t explain why she thinks I’m sensitive to it, and gave a very simplistic explanation of why I should stop (which suggested she views me as medication-seeking). Her tone sounded dismissive to me, so I didn’t feel comfortable asking questions. I couldn’t think quickly enough to formulate them and felt like she wouldn’t listen anyway.

Maybe it is helping and my depression would be a lot worse without it. I feel like she’s not taking my life circumstances into account. I was doing great up to the wedding, then suddenly all my loved ones had gone back to their own lives, nothing meaningful had changed, and I no longer had something important to work on. I couldn’t sleep for a week or so while Mom was having work done on the roof. Then the holidays were a blur of excitement, socializing, not getting enough sleep, and thinking my godmother was going to die. Then, once more, everyone left and everything stopped – except worrying about my godmother. The floor dropped out from under me – and my pending courses for the Spring semester are looming over me.

The courses are the thing that has me the most concerned about stopping my medication. I’d like to have a bit of stability going into such a big lifestyle change; the last thing I need is unpredictable changes in my body chemistry and mood at the same time I’m going into a frightening and challenging situation. The last time I took these courses I had to drop them because they were triggering self harm and suicidal urges. I don’t feel safe trying to take them again without some kind of safety net. (I should probably talk to my instructors about this.) At least taking medication is something I’ve been able to do with some consistency; I feel like I’m doing something to help myself!

I suppose I could possibly enjoy the same effect from continuing to take my supplements (omega-3, vitamin d, and a vitamin b complex with folic acid and vitamin c), but I really don’t want to give up on the Lamictal just yet. Wakana has been urging me to take medication for so long (since before I started this blog), I hate the idea of finding that yet another one doesn’t work. I don’t want to start from scratch again…

During the meeting with the APN, my mood went from 1) low energy, depressed and a bit anxious, to 2) slightly higher energy and a bit irritable, to 3) more depressed, frustrated, and wanting to cut myself. She ended the appointment after telling me to stop taking the Lamictal; she didn’t even ask if I had any questions or concerns or anything else I wanted to talk about. I feel like she thinks I’m not really depressed or only mildly depressed and that I’m being lazy.

(Much of our conversation was her giving me advice: to make healthier food choices, move around more, make a schedule for myself, and give myself a to-do list with simple tasks that help me feel good. Some of these are lifestyle changes I want to make anyway and think would be helpful, but in general it sounds like stuff laypeople say to people with depression because they don’t understand it.)

I left and made sure I have future appointments pre-booked, but thought about not coming back. In an ideal world I would find a better psychiatrist, but with my insurance that would be a nightmare. And I’d have to start the whole medication dance all over again! When I was halfway across the parking lot I thought about going back to ask about reducing my dose slowly, but decided I wanted to consult with someone before trying to advocate for myself. I had just utterly failed at advocating for myself and was in no state to do so successfully.

I talked to someone I know who works with adult psych patients and has bipolar himself, and with his wife who has a good amount of medical knowledge – including potential effects of different drugs and what various symptoms might indicate. Together they helped me decide to continue taking my current dose of the Lamictal until I’m able to talk to the APN again. They encouraged me to talk to Wakana about it and have her talk to the APN as well. My friend with bipolar also made an important point: my insurance might not approve the sleep study right away, or in time for our next appointment, or ever. I can’t wait, untreated, while they bathe in red tape (as I have been for my tooth – brief update: I have an appointment for a periodontal consultation and another to get a root canal).

At the very least, I want a better understanding of her thought process. I want her to sit down and look me in the eye and answer my questions until I feel confident in whatever course of action she prescribes. Is that so much to ask? If I have to go off Lamictal, I feel much safer reducing my dose slowly with a plan we’ve come up with together. If possible, I intend to have Fox there with me. He’ll be there for my future scheduled appointments, at least!

“This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.”

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this. 🙂

The Daily Post

As a child, the anticipation of eating one of my mom’s freshly made brownies nearly drove me to the brink of insanity. She had a rule about how long they needed to cool down before my sister and I could cut them. I’d be bouncing off the walls with excitement until the kitchen timer dinged, and I was allowed to dig in. Oh, the humanity.

While those brownies were absolutely delicious, it was my eagerness and impatience before eating them that was the real rush.

Years later, my mom’s rules about her homemade baked goods reflect how I like to tell a story. Whether my tale is verbal or written, fiction or non-fiction, it’s my goal to hook my audience, build excitement, and create mystery about the resolution. The best compliment I can ever receive is, “I couldn’t stop reading. I couldn’t put it down.” 

Any genre, any topic, can thrill a reader…if you know how to…

View original post 731 more words

… Covered in Bees!

content notes: bee and wasp phobia, boundary issues

I couldn’t sleep last night. First, I didn’t want to go to sleep, even though I was tired and needed to be well-rested to have my first session of the new year with Wakana. I played a puzzle game on my phone until I was too tired to think, then switched to an app that’s supposed to help with relaxation and “stress relief.”

I usually drift off very easily while listening to the app’s guided meditation and complex background sounds, but last night was different. In short, I didn’t feel safe. There was a malicious voice, an ominous presence, like a demon. He twisted all the imagery in the guided meditation to be threatening. The deserted beach I had all to myself was deserted because no one wanted to be with me, so I was alone and no one was there to help me if I got hurt. The ocean I was sailing across was turbulent from a storm and full of dangerous creatures. My eyelids and muscles were relaxing and getting heavy so I’d be trapped there with him, completely helpless. The “low bed in the earth” – that’s how it was described, don’t ask me how that’s supposed to be relaxing – was a coffin!

I jerked myself out of the “relaxation,” turned off the recording, curled up in fetal position, and wept. I don’t know how much time passed, or how I finally fell asleep. But this is the dream I remembered when I awoke:

I was in a room like a college dorm room, with two beds. One was large – at least a full, maybe a queen – and covered in memory foam and very comfortable. Fox said he wanted that bed, and I agreed because I had a comfortable place of my own to sleep. I don’t remember exactly what it was, maybe a recliner or air mattress or something; I was content with it.

I set my sleeping place up next to another bed – which was like the extra-long twin beds in college dorm rooms – and looked around the room. I saw a dresser and a nightstand and thought, “I would really like to have someplace to put my water within reach while I sleep.” (In real life I have to sit up to reach the surface that functions as my nightstand.) I thought the nightstand would fit well at the foot of the dorm bed and be in just the right spot for me to use while resting on whatever it was I’d brought. However, before I could move the nightstand, something inspired me to check out the dorm bed – just in case I thought it might be a more comfortable place to sleep.

One end of the bed was raised off the floor as beds typically are, but the other was on the floor and the mattress formed a sharp angle. There was a large lump in the middle of the bed, like a foam wedge one might put under one’s knees to sleep more comfortably. It was under the sheet so I couldn’t really make out exactly what it was, but based on the available information I was thinking I didn’t want to sleep in that bed…

Then I saw a bee – more accurately, a wasp – perched at the peak of whatever was under the sheet, in the middle of the bed. It was a brown-red color. I think all wasps look menacing, so this one did, too. I tried to back away slowly, but it flew toward me. I knew it was going to sting me, it was only a matter of time. No matter what I did, how I moved, it wouldn’t go away. If I tried to swat or otherwise redirect it, it would just get angry and sting me more. I was terrified, helpless.

I awoke with a start – still exhausted, tense, anxious, and angry. But I made a connection I hadn’t noticed before: in all my nightmares about bees (wasps, yellow jackets, etc.) they are always attracted to me as soon as I notice them. They keep coming toward me no matter what I do, and it’s only a matter of time before I will get stung. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been stung in the dream – I wake up before it can happen. It’s the thing I dread. Overwhelming, paralyzing anxiety. To me it takes the form of a menacing insect. I think there’s usually only one in my visual field, but knowing they can swarm makes it much, much worse…

Right, the connection: bees represent my lack of boundaries.

I didn’t feel safe last night because the malicious being that was menacing me was in my head. No boundaries.

If I open my door to talk to Mom, Dog is likely to walk in (without acknowledging me) and sniff every centimeter of my apartment looking for something to eat. I usually remember to keep food out of his reach, but he likes to take dirty tissues (and other unsavory items) out of the garbage. The things I don’t want anymore, that are supposed to be discarded, unseen, are strewn across the floor in broad daylight. It feels like there’s no stopping him. No boundaries. I’m vulnerable.

When Mom comes in she notices the cluttered wreck my life has become (who wouldn’t?) and comments on it. She talks about rearranging the kitchen and says I need to get rid of this and that and offers to help me go through things, without asking me what I want to do about the mess. She compulsively picks up hair and dust off the floor while I watch awkwardly, feeling helpless and angry and ashamed. She asks questions about and tells me what to do in my relationship with my husband – all unsolicited. I think she’s been offering to help me clean because she’s bored.

Even when I enjoy spending time with Mom, then it needs to come to a close. We’re both getting tired, she’s said “let me go eat” about a gazillion times, and yet she keeps coming up with something new to talk about. “What else?” she asks over and over, like this is the last chance we’ll ever have to talk so we need to say everything to each other. She pushes and worms her way in and clings until I can’t take it anymore. Sometimes she leaves and then comes back. If I try to get her to leave more quickly she just clings even more. I feel like there’s no escaping her, and I’m going to get stung.

I’m having boundary issues with Fox, too. He moved my phone charger without telling me, so I was panicking that I’d lost it somehow – not hard to do with all the clutter. He’ll take heavy things from me (because I somehow lost all my physical strength as soon as I met a man?), move my stuff without asking, leave empty bottles all over the place, and let his alarm go off several times before he gets up. Food keeps going bad because we don’t eat it in time; often it gets shoved to the back of the fridge. I usually try to keep that from happening (e.g. when putting groceries away) so I think he’s at least partially (mostly) responsible. It makes me so angry! Sometimes he asks me not to eat something because he wants it and then it goes bad. Or, I go to eat something and it’s all but gone. I feel out of control.

We’ve been staying up too late and getting up too early and even though he tries to be considerate he wakes me multiple times when he’s getting ready for work. I can’t sleep with him because I don’t have enough room to relax fully and I can’t stand the sound of his snoring. When we sleep in different rooms he always needs to get or do something in the room I’m in (if he’s awake first). He calls me multiple times on his way home from work, which interrupts whatever I was doing.

He doesn’t drive, so he’s dependent on what public transportation is available in our area. It’s not the best, but it’s usually reliable; it’s also a bit of a walk from home. Mom tells me I should drive him there and back, so I feel obligated to do so and guilty when I don’t – even though he seems to think of it as me doing him a favor and not a service he’s entitled to. So it’s not just waking up earlier than I’d like, it’s having to get up and drive him somewhere. He tends to wait until the last minute, too, so it’s rushing and worrying about whether he’ll be on time. It’s not just being interrupted when he gets home, it’s having to stop what I’m doing and drive somewhere to pick him up. Occasionally he gets stranded somewhere and I have to go rescue him in the middle of the night. Then when we get home I want to be considerate and interact with him, but he wants to go on the computer.

I’m grateful that at least he’s working and he’s doing his best to be considerate and all that jazz. It’s just… frustrating. Especially when I can’t sleep. Even moreso when the thing I’m using to try and help myself sleep backfires. I could have been sleeping the past few hours but I feel like it’s wrong to sleep through the precious few daylight hours we get this time of year.

Sort of connected to lack of boundaries, perhaps my subconscious is trying to warn me about dependency. In college dorms, the beds are provided to students; they (especially the one in my dream) are not of the best quality, but they’re better than nothing. I’m currently dependent on my mother for housing. This apartment (like a twin bed) is nice for one person, but way too small for two.

In my dream I had my own place to sleep and was going to rearrange my environment using my own strength to meet my needs – without consulting or getting unsolicited advice from anyone. But then I wanted to see if I’d be more comfortable with the bed that was provided – dependency. Only then did the wasp become a threat – it might not have even existed before I approached the bed! I could have slept soundly on whatever it was that I’d brought into the room myself, with the nightstand I’d moved within easy reach. Instead, I considered being dependent on what was provided to me – even though I could tell from a distance that it was less than ideal. Only then did the wasp appear. It never actually stung me; it just prevented me from approaching the bed.

Maybe the wasp isn’t really the threat, maybe it’s a warning.