Please worry about me! I consider that to be good vibes!

I am desperately suicidal still if I have to spend any time with just me, who used to not even exist, but has progressed, yes, it's progress, to a black hole of despair, unless in I am in co-anything with other people. I have a meeting today with someone who knows more about other options than I do or can discover more than I can from the Internet (I don't think I am using the current jargon in my searches, for instance). If they have to kick me out (well, graduate me) they may be able to send me to a hospital for some interim while waiting for a longer-term residential program. I might be able to do intensive outpatient if I have a psych-specializing social worker or something living in or at least at night...

I *have* gone from Oops-alone-die-right-now to being able to be alone for maybe an hour or more (with tv or a puzzle book or reading book, not really if I'm in bed with nothing) before things start talking to me (not like hearing voices, but let's say I am not thinking of suicide but then I see some coins and it's Oh, you could choke on those if you tried, wouldn't that be great, it would all be over, then.

As a really small child, say, from about 3 on, if I cried, my sisters and mom would literally point and laugh, ha ha isn't it funny that Mrrzy is crying about *that* (or again, or something), so I never learned to regulate emotions that made me cry. If Daddy were home (note, he gets a capital letter), he would comfort me, so I at least had him for that. But if I got mad, he was all Don't you talk to your mother like that, so I lost even him. If I was *crying* out of anger, he would comfort me, so mad => sad, again, training from a tiny tot never to get angry but only to "get my feelings hurt" instead. Plus he went to work and even traveled, so intermittent reinforcement, great training tool, that.

This went on all through my adolescence - If it was just mom, as 2 sisters all went off to college when I was 11 and the other when I was 13, she [mom] would try to help (and say all the wrong things, but she would try), but if any of my sisters were home from college the two, or three, would point and laugh. Actually it went on pretty much till the Beirut bombing.

It continues today with the sister who had to raise me and whom I love like a mother: just this past $mas I was reminded of mom saying I liked to get lost in department stores (which I only remember happening once, looking up from the pantleg I was clutching to find it wasn't Daddy, terrifying); when I had asked mom about that at some point, she told me it actually happened a lot, but that I did it on purpose). And my sister burst out laughing and told me that mom actually used to *ditch* me in department stores, for fun.

How bloody awful was that, eh. Both the ditching, and even more so the laughing about it.

My anger is buried, way, way below my grief, and it is those which make up that black pit of despair. It is a 3-year old's grief that I would rather die, apparently, than face. And under that, all the anger ever.

Decades of therapy have not accessed that pit till now, as I have never had to be alone for as long as being an empty-nester involved. So I have a lot of work to do, but I *will* get there because I really don't, intellectually, want to die, and I have the psych training to have recognized the suicidal impulses and gotten help every time. You guys are a [literal] life- [figurative] -line.

My problem with this place (my crisis clinic, not Mudcat!) is they do a lot of training on how to get away from your emotions so you can deal with life, whereas I need more training on how to get *into* my emotions so I can live with myself. Once I have that I'll be able to use the getting-away stuff which I will also need for living in the actual social human world.

Whew. Thanks again.