The book is called: The Trauma Myth: The Truth About the Sexual Abuse of Children and it is written by Harvard educated Susan A Clancy. (I think the “A” may stand for asinine) In her book, Ivy league degreed, yet still *uneducated* Clancy claims that children who are sexually abused are rarely damaged physically OR psychologically.
In an interview, Clancy was asked, “What do you mean by the "trauma myth"?
Her explanation: “The title refers to the fact that although sexual abuse is usually portrayed by professionals and the media as a traumatic experience for the victims when it happens — meaning frightening, overwhelming, painful — it rarely is. Most victims do not understand they are being victimized, because they are too young to understand sex, the perpetrators are almost always people they know and trust, and violence or penetration rarely occurs. "Confusion" is the most frequently reported word when victims are asked to describe what the experience was like. Confusion is a far cry from trauma.” Clancy went on to say, “For 30 years we've been working on preventing sexual abuse. But we've skirted around what sexual abuse really is. The kids don't know what's going on, and they often enjoy it. They're not going to resist.”
Clancy also shares that she experienced quite a backlash from her book while working at Harvard. When asked how bad it was she says this: “It's bad enough I moved to Nicaragua. When I was at Harvard — the peak of my career, at the university you want to be, surrounded by all the people who were the titans in the field — there was just so much bullshit going on. People focused on a type of abuse that affects maybe 2 percent of the population, millions of dollars for funding that doesn't apply to most victims, bestselling books written by therapists misportraying sexual abuse. I would try to tell the truth. I would be attacked. Grad students wouldn't talk to me. Professors would tell me to leave for other fields. I just felt disillusioned. I got this opportunity from the World Bank to do cross-cultural research on how sexual abuse is understood in Latin America. I came down to Central America, and I've stayed.”
I have so many thoughts swirling around in my pea-sized trauma-brain I am not yet sure how to process what she is saying. I vacillate from wanting to tell her it is “that bad” to just shaking my head and letting it be –because clearly she will never understand. But my problem with letting it be is so many people already ignore what goes on, or believes that it isn’t “that bad”, that I cannot, in good conscious, not speak my peace about this outrageous misleading book, written by an uneducated woman who not only believes that there are no lasting physical or psychological effects from being sexually abused as a child but also believes it is not the abuse itself that is traumatic, but rather, the “Therapeutic” culture dictating to the victims how they should feel about the abuse they experienced.
Listen up, Susan Clancy: It is that bad. And 5 year olds do not “enjoy” being fucked by grown men, in their own homes, which is supposed to be a place of safety. A 5 year old's vagina is not meant to be penetrated by a grown man’s penis. A 5 year old does not find it “pleasurable” to have a grown man’s dick shoved down her throat. It is that bad, Susan Clancy, and it does have life-long lingering effects. And as far as the “therapeutic” culture telling me how I should “feel” about it? Well, I have trusted only one therapist with how I “feel” about it, she did not ever force her opinions on me of what I should feel. I’m fairly certain she wishes I didn’t *feel* as bad as I do most of the time, as I’m sure she does not want to continue taking dissociative midnight phone calls from a child who relives the pain over and over and over again. I'm pretty sure she hates that I continue to test her care and question her trustworthiness after we've worked together for nearly 4 years. But she has never once said, "Grace, it wasn't that bad." And she believes me when I tell her it is that bad.
There are lasting effects, Susan Clancy. I could write a BOOK on the effects, both physical and psychological. Just because someone chooses not to disclose the abuse for 30 years, or even in their lifetime; just because someone can outlive the abuse and grow up and function in society so no one would ever guess what happened – that doesn’t mean it was okay.
I was 5 years old when my mother brought my step-father into our home. I was 5 years old when he first touched me. I did not find it pleasurable to have a drunk man pawing my 5 year old chest. I felt only searing pain the first time he fucked me. And he did it again, and again, and again. Year after year he fucked me and sodomized me, Susan Clancy. And if you met me on the street, you would never know that. You would think I am an educated, polite, well-functioning woman, living the American dream. But I cannot even pour bleach into the washing machine because it reminds me of the SF’s semen in my mouth. I cannot eat or smell specific foods. I have no idea what intimacy is and I cannot make any sort of connection between sex and love. I have trouble fucking my husband not because I don't like to have sex, but because of the "lingering effects" that happen after I fuck him. I cannot trust people to see the "real" me, because of the ignorance of people like you who will say, "It was not that bad.", and on most nights there is no safe place. But you would never know of those “lingering effects” of being fucked as a child.
And for me there is no escape Susan Clancy. I was 5 years old and I could not jump on a plane to another country to escape the “backlash” I lived in. For me, it was “that bad”, Susan Clancy, and there was no escape. And it's uneducated nitwits like you who speak on a subject they know nothing about; people like you, Susan Clancy, who make us believe that we should be ashamed for believing it was "that bad".
It is people like you, Susan Clancy, who make me thankful for my therapist who does believe me when I say it was "that bad". It's people like you, Susan Clancy, who make me want to flush my shame right down the toilet and write my own book telling everyone just how bad it was to be fucked as a kid. And some day, I just might! And when I do, I will send an autographed copy, first edition, to you - in Nicaragua, where you ran away to hide, because the backlash of your unsubstantiated theory was too great for you to bear.
*Oh the Humanity!*
Showing posts with label repeat the trauma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label repeat the trauma. Show all posts
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Feelings ~ Woe-oh-oh ~ Feelings...
Nothing more than feelings....(I hate that song!). Holy smokes! I am so sick of feelings! I am so drained from all the *feelings* she feels, which, in turn, makes me feel too much...and unable to juggle them all. I am *feeling(d)* out! Today I feel tired and drained. I suppose drained is acceptable - compared to the anxiety-ridden frazzled crazybrain I’ve been for a few weeks now. I detest that she overwhelms me and I don’t know what to do with her. I don’t want to feel what she feels because it hurts too much. She feels too much – and even though the therapist says, “Grace, they’re just feelings. Let her feel. Grace, they’re just tears, let her cry.” Can’t she see that she feels too much?
When she overwhelms me and I don’t know what to do with her I want someone to help me take care of her. She isn’t like a colicky baby. I cannot just walk away from her until I have the patience to deal with her because she is inside of my head and try as I might, I have not been successful in getting her out. I no longer try to cut her out of me - that never worked, so why add additional scars that are visible from the outside. I now just try to keep the scars on the inside.
Last week was a difficult *feeling* week...overwhelmed by the anxiety and fear, the feelings of helplessness which lead to anger, which ALWAYS lead to something destructive (even if that something no longer involves a razor). So I spent some time today thinking about how to identify what happens right before Ms. Destructo~ Crazybrain feels abandoned and goes to great lengths to prove to the 5 year old that she is unwanted and unloved and only good for one thing. Crazybrain won on Thursday ~ she wouldn't let the therapist help her, but just wanted to fight and *prove* to the therapist that she is bad...which I know I need to talk to the therapist about - but I don't know if I can without CB freakin' out. Friday was not great but I was able to "live" through it, thanks to my friend Lynn I reached out, she took my hand and helped me come up with a workable plan to do what I wanted, and needed, to do. And Saturday night I even succeeded in telling the hus *no* and not giving in to something I know would have upset the 5 year old terribly - which made today much more tolerable than Thursday and Friday night.
When she overwhelms me and I don’t know what to do with her I want someone to help me take care of her. She isn’t like a colicky baby. I cannot just walk away from her until I have the patience to deal with her because she is inside of my head and try as I might, I have not been successful in getting her out. I no longer try to cut her out of me - that never worked, so why add additional scars that are visible from the outside. I now just try to keep the scars on the inside.
Last week was a difficult *feeling* week...overwhelmed by the anxiety and fear, the feelings of helplessness which lead to anger, which ALWAYS lead to something destructive (even if that something no longer involves a razor). So I spent some time today thinking about how to identify what happens right before Ms. Destructo~ Crazybrain feels abandoned and goes to great lengths to prove to the 5 year old that she is unwanted and unloved and only good for one thing. Crazybrain won on Thursday ~ she wouldn't let the therapist help her, but just wanted to fight and *prove* to the therapist that she is bad...which I know I need to talk to the therapist about - but I don't know if I can without CB freakin' out. Friday was not great but I was able to "live" through it, thanks to my friend Lynn I reached out, she took my hand and helped me come up with a workable plan to do what I wanted, and needed, to do. And Saturday night I even succeeded in telling the hus *no* and not giving in to something I know would have upset the 5 year old terribly - which made today much more tolerable than Thursday and Friday night.
So, Grace, how has the weekend made you "Feel"?...cheese~n~rice!
Feelings...woe-oh-oh-feelings...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I can see the shadow of the freak-out monster in my peripheral vision
Tuesday in session I talked a little more about the Friday night creepshows of the past and present. And even as I spoke, it wasn’t me saying the words. I heard the words come out of my mouth. I could hear the words, I could see the therapist sitting across from me, but it didn’t even feel like ME ~ it wasn’t like I was consciously speaking the words, but yet they were pouring out of me in a steady tone of voice. A voice I was not able to stop. Was that my voice? I did not speak those words.
After the words were spoken, I told the therapist that I hoped to not freak out later. But I can see the freak-out shadow in my peripheral vision; it frightens me and now I can move only my eyes but not the rest of my head, or my body. I want to be disconnected from my body tonight and yet try as I might; I still feel the churning in my stomach, the pounding ache on the left side of my head. I feel the burning in my eyes and the tightness in my chest. It is difficult to keep my eyes open and impossible to take a deep breath.
She has cried non-stop since last night. Even in bed, huddled in the corner, far away from the door and wrapped tightly in her blue blanket and surrounded by pillows, she shook and cried. And still tonight she cries in fear and pain. She cries about sticky humiliating smelly messes. She cries about mirrors and blood. She cries and she cannot be soothed.
Why does she remember? Why does she remind me all of the time? Why does she ruin everything? Why can’t she just go away? Why does it still hurt so bad? It shouldn’t hurt now. It does but it shouldn’t. And she continues to cry...
I hear her crying, I see her crying ~ but I don't know how to stop her cries. I don't know how to make her pain go away. All I can do is watch her and hear her.
After the words were spoken, I told the therapist that I hoped to not freak out later. But I can see the freak-out shadow in my peripheral vision; it frightens me and now I can move only my eyes but not the rest of my head, or my body. I want to be disconnected from my body tonight and yet try as I might; I still feel the churning in my stomach, the pounding ache on the left side of my head. I feel the burning in my eyes and the tightness in my chest. It is difficult to keep my eyes open and impossible to take a deep breath.
She has cried non-stop since last night. Even in bed, huddled in the corner, far away from the door and wrapped tightly in her blue blanket and surrounded by pillows, she shook and cried. And still tonight she cries in fear and pain. She cries about sticky humiliating smelly messes. She cries about mirrors and blood. She cries and she cannot be soothed.
Why does she remember? Why does she remind me all of the time? Why does she ruin everything? Why can’t she just go away? Why does it still hurt so bad? It shouldn’t hurt now. It does but it shouldn’t. And she continues to cry...
I hear her crying, I see her crying ~ but I don't know how to stop her cries. I don't know how to make her pain go away. All I can do is watch her and hear her.
I didn't have the words
I don’t remember ever being innocent or pure. I remember how wrong and dirty and secretive it felt. I was 5 years old. But I didn’t talk about it. I was not supposed to talk about it and, really, I didn’t even have the words. I spent my whole life telling myself it wasn’t that bad…maybe I could even forget. And then I would try on the feelings of denial and pretend to be okay.
But it was that bad. It really was. Some nights it still is that bad. And I still can’t find the words. But I feel the words. I feel them physically in my body. Terrible things that I don’t understand. And then I wonder if they are really true. I asked the therapist that today. I asked her about the physical things that happen that have no explanation. I asked her if she believed they could happen. I find them to be distressing. I have a headache and I cannot sleep.
But it was that bad. It really was. Some nights it still is that bad. And I still can’t find the words. But I feel the words. I feel them physically in my body. Terrible things that I don’t understand. And then I wonder if they are really true. I asked the therapist that today. I asked her about the physical things that happen that have no explanation. I asked her if she believed they could happen. I find them to be distressing. I have a headache and I cannot sleep.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Maybe you fight me because you are afraid if you don’t, you will lose me
It makes me tired sometimes, the constant fighting inside my head, the constant aruging, yelling, fear, discord. It's tiring. And PAG fights the therapist like the female version of Rocky. Today, as I was leaving the therapist's office, she said, "Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't you will lose me." When I asked her what she meant, she said she didn't know, that it was just something that popped into her head right that very minute. Popped right into her head...like she could have had a V-8! What? I'm not really sure if she just wanted me to take the statement and try it on, or if she really just said the first thing that popped in her head.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't, you will lose me"
After I left her office, I stopped to get a diet coke, and I thought about what she said.
When I got back to my office, I walked into my office and took off my coat, and I thought about what she said. I logged on to my computer, and pulled up a report I needed to prepare for an afternoon meeting, and I thought about what she said.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't you will lose me."
Early this evening, I was talking to my friend L and I thought about what the therapist said. I decided to ask L what she thought it meant, and L said, "I think she means that you look for things to argue with her about to try to push her and test her; but deep down you know she won't leave you. However, you continue to battle with her so there is a state of constant conflict in your relationship so you don't have to deal with the real issues, the real problems that you need her help with. " Maybe she's right...
Since L has been so insightful and has had her own "therapist" hat on, I decided to ask for her help with another crazybrain issue that's been dormant for awhile, but has again reared it's ugly head. Something that I haven't asked for the therapists help on because I know that it won't matter what she says, PAG will just be pissed about it. This issue surfaced nearly 2 years ago, and reappears at times, but not nearly as strong as it was in the past. It's so irrational and embarrassing, and logically it makes no sense - I KNOW that! But yet, here it is, as irrational and embarrassing as walking out of the ladies room with your skirt tucked into your panties and not noticing (not that that's ever happened to me - but it would be really embarrassing - this is that kind of embarrassing).... The 5 year old is scared again that the therapist will leave her when she gets married. And the 5 year old is once again jealous of the therapists' BF. OMG! TOTALLY irrational, Grace - you are so crazy! It is so NOYB and so not fair to the therapist. Yah, I know that...but the 5 year old is still sad sometimes. And if I were to bring it up with the therapist, I'm afraid she would say something like, "Grace, my life - NOYB." Which would totally freak out the 5 year old and piss off PAG. And adult rational Grace "gets" that it isn't about the therapist and her BF - it's really about the host body leaving me for men. And I hope someday the 5 year old will understand that too - but she doesn't right now. And I don't know how to get her from point A to point B.
L said she totally gets it. She said that she still gets jealous of the time her mom spends with her sister and she's 37 years old, not 5. She said that in a kid's mind it doesn't matter - feelings are feelings - and it's not a horrible thing. She didn't think it was nearly as embarrassing as the wardrobe malfunction described above. I, however, still do.
L tried to reassure me that we all have our shit. We all have things we are embarrassed about, and she said that I have to be honest and patient with the therapist and she has helped me, and she will continue to help me, if I let her. L told me that I have to someday find a way to accept that my childhood was less than ideal and it wasn't my fault. And that the things I have done as an adult, willingly, and/or unwillingly, that may feel shameful and wrong to me, I'll have to accept that too...but it will probably take a long time because I have never let anyone know me before, I've never let anyone "in"side my head to really know me...except the therapist. Not even the hus. She said that hopefully someday I will learn to trust other people too, and know who I should trust. I hope she's right.
Before I left, L told me to text her if I felt alone, scared, just needed to talk...and went on to say, "As long as I'm not having sex with the married man I've been telling no for 6 months, but he still comes by and I do it even though I don't want too...I'll text you back."....I fell out of the chair onto the floor in hysterical laughter! See...we all have our shit.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't, you will lose me"
After I left her office, I stopped to get a diet coke, and I thought about what she said.
When I got back to my office, I walked into my office and took off my coat, and I thought about what she said. I logged on to my computer, and pulled up a report I needed to prepare for an afternoon meeting, and I thought about what she said.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't you will lose me."
Early this evening, I was talking to my friend L and I thought about what the therapist said. I decided to ask L what she thought it meant, and L said, "I think she means that you look for things to argue with her about to try to push her and test her; but deep down you know she won't leave you. However, you continue to battle with her so there is a state of constant conflict in your relationship so you don't have to deal with the real issues, the real problems that you need her help with. " Maybe she's right...
Since L has been so insightful and has had her own "therapist" hat on, I decided to ask for her help with another crazybrain issue that's been dormant for awhile, but has again reared it's ugly head. Something that I haven't asked for the therapists help on because I know that it won't matter what she says, PAG will just be pissed about it. This issue surfaced nearly 2 years ago, and reappears at times, but not nearly as strong as it was in the past. It's so irrational and embarrassing, and logically it makes no sense - I KNOW that! But yet, here it is, as irrational and embarrassing as walking out of the ladies room with your skirt tucked into your panties and not noticing (not that that's ever happened to me - but it would be really embarrassing - this is that kind of embarrassing).... The 5 year old is scared again that the therapist will leave her when she gets married. And the 5 year old is once again jealous of the therapists' BF. OMG! TOTALLY irrational, Grace - you are so crazy! It is so NOYB and so not fair to the therapist. Yah, I know that...but the 5 year old is still sad sometimes. And if I were to bring it up with the therapist, I'm afraid she would say something like, "Grace, my life - NOYB." Which would totally freak out the 5 year old and piss off PAG. And adult rational Grace "gets" that it isn't about the therapist and her BF - it's really about the host body leaving me for men. And I hope someday the 5 year old will understand that too - but she doesn't right now. And I don't know how to get her from point A to point B.
L said she totally gets it. She said that she still gets jealous of the time her mom spends with her sister and she's 37 years old, not 5. She said that in a kid's mind it doesn't matter - feelings are feelings - and it's not a horrible thing. She didn't think it was nearly as embarrassing as the wardrobe malfunction described above. I, however, still do.
L tried to reassure me that we all have our shit. We all have things we are embarrassed about, and she said that I have to be honest and patient with the therapist and she has helped me, and she will continue to help me, if I let her. L told me that I have to someday find a way to accept that my childhood was less than ideal and it wasn't my fault. And that the things I have done as an adult, willingly, and/or unwillingly, that may feel shameful and wrong to me, I'll have to accept that too...but it will probably take a long time because I have never let anyone know me before, I've never let anyone "in"side my head to really know me...except the therapist. Not even the hus. She said that hopefully someday I will learn to trust other people too, and know who I should trust. I hope she's right.
Before I left, L told me to text her if I felt alone, scared, just needed to talk...and went on to say, "As long as I'm not having sex with the married man I've been telling no for 6 months, but he still comes by and I do it even though I don't want too...I'll text you back."....I fell out of the chair onto the floor in hysterical laughter! See...we all have our shit.
Maybe you fight me because you are afraid if you don't that you will lose me
What does that MEAN?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
How low can you go....anyone for the Limbo?
Many years ago I won a weekend trip to Vegas by doing the Limbo…how low can you go….how low can you go…these past couple of weeks I feel like I’m playing the Limbo again. Just when I think I’ve hit the lowest point I can possibly hit, I get “challenged” to go even lower….and lower I go.
I am on the cutting edge tonight. I feel it. Earlier, DD wanted me to cut something out for an art project she was working on, and as I held the scissors in my hand, I could feel it…the overwhelming urge to cut. I finally told her to go see her father, and have him cut the paper for her. He didn’t, and she came back to me. I cut the paper for her, and the scissors are right here, still beside me. She never put them away. Looking for a sign? This is it.
When this all bubbles up I can no longer just shove it all back down again, not like I used to. It just lingers in the back of my throat, in the pit of my stomach, and threatens me with nausea and the taste of vomit when I least expect it. I want the therpaist to help me but PAG pushes her away and is so mean to her. But I need her help but don't deserve it. I want to scream! I want to just get what I deserve! Just do it already! I want to disappear from it all. I hate it! I want to destroy the parts of myself that make me “her”. I’m so tired of feeling overwhelmed and alone in this. I don’t want to remember. I want it to go away, and yet still, it lingers. It feels like a pair of razor sharp scissors slowly piercing my skin from my elbow right down to my wrist. It leaves me bleeding, an open wound, scars on my soul. I know exactly how it feels, I can imagine it right now, the sensation of the scissors piercing my skin and it thrills me and repulses me at the same time. Why won’t someone take it away? Even just for a day.
I am on the cutting edge tonight. I feel it. Earlier, DD wanted me to cut something out for an art project she was working on, and as I held the scissors in my hand, I could feel it…the overwhelming urge to cut. I finally told her to go see her father, and have him cut the paper for her. He didn’t, and she came back to me. I cut the paper for her, and the scissors are right here, still beside me. She never put them away. Looking for a sign? This is it.
When this all bubbles up I can no longer just shove it all back down again, not like I used to. It just lingers in the back of my throat, in the pit of my stomach, and threatens me with nausea and the taste of vomit when I least expect it. I want the therpaist to help me but PAG pushes her away and is so mean to her. But I need her help but don't deserve it. I want to scream! I want to just get what I deserve! Just do it already! I want to disappear from it all. I hate it! I want to destroy the parts of myself that make me “her”. I’m so tired of feeling overwhelmed and alone in this. I don’t want to remember. I want it to go away, and yet still, it lingers. It feels like a pair of razor sharp scissors slowly piercing my skin from my elbow right down to my wrist. It leaves me bleeding, an open wound, scars on my soul. I know exactly how it feels, I can imagine it right now, the sensation of the scissors piercing my skin and it thrills me and repulses me at the same time. Why won’t someone take it away? Even just for a day.
Why doesn’t it go away? Why can’t I trust? Why can’t I get through this?
I am lost and afraid.
If I reach out, she could hurt us, if I don’t, I could die.
Reached out. Bad Idea. She was mad at me for bothering her.
I could tell.
I don't want to play anymore.
Reached out. Bad Idea. She was mad at me for bothering her.
I could tell.
I don't want to play anymore.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Grace, you come with a lotta *baggage* ~ but no safety, trust, or directions!
I carry about 3 different bags with me at all times (see for yourself). I have a lot of baggage…and I have searched through every single bag I carry with me and taken inventory and there’s a lot of stuff. Believe me. And this is just stuff I carry with me in my *present moment*. But what seems to be missing from my baggage are directions and flow charts to explain what to do when I lose my way and things go array.
TRUST: Trust is also missing from my baggage. The Therapist is ‘teaching’ me to ‘trust’. Grace, I’m asking you to trust what I say…Grace, Trust yourself…Grace, Trust the process…Grace, Trust me on this…” But what she forgets, when she says these things to me, is that I don’t know how to trust – my trust was shattered time and time again. The people who were supposed to “care” about me and “love” me broke me, and so I no longer trust. And just when I inch out into a branch of the trusting tree…the therapist forgets to do what she says she’ll do (not a life-altering, unforgivable issue, I know…well, to a *non-crazybrain*) but still something so small and seemingly trivial can send *crazybrain* on the fast track down Borderline Boulevard to an all night party which dead-ends at the SUI Souvenir Shop! And it is not beyond *crazybrain* to send a memento of the previous night’s SI party to the therapist…signed, sealed and delivered.
And this is precisely why I do not share things of a most personal nature and why I lost faith in people’s ability to actually understand and care without judgment or ridicule. No, I do not *trust*. Let me step off of the trauma trust trail for a moment to clarify that I do have the ability to trust, just not as it relates to the trust of my sharing myself with another human being and *trusting* that that person will not judge me, and will be able to accept me, the real me. What would be really handy, is if someone could just replace the “trust” factor with some clearly defined directions specifically drawn out and documented for *crazybrain*. Perhaps a visio flow chart with specific “if this ~then this” instructions. That’s what would be really helpful. It would have been really nice to have a * trauma flowchart* the other night that I could have referred too when I lost all touch reality and was teetering on the edge.
SAFETY: Because *THIS* ~ all of this is just an overwhelming, confusing, internal mess. There is no internal communication…there’s just complete chaos! I have to make lists for everything and even then there is rebuttal and rebellion at the smallest thing. What seems strange to me though, is that I have these urges to SI, strong urges, like visions of it in my mind, but then I don’t do it. I’m not sure if I can even articulate what goes through my head during these times. It’s so unlike what has previously played out when in CB is in charge. Like in the past, if CB had decided to cut, even under protest, she would be on the bathroom floor with a glass of vodka and a razor and in 10 seconds flat, blood would be flowing from a wound somewhere on her body. But the past few weeks have been different. The thoughts, the urges, the desires, are all still there, but the follow through is what seems to be missing. But it’s like a scene in a movie playing over and over again. (I’d make a flow-chart but I don’t know how in blogworld… ) but it’s sort of like this: Something will trigger CB into flashback hell, overwhelmed by mental and physical ickiness, a thought of: cut yourself to make it stop, might flash forward…and then I can picture actually doing it (the SI), but I don't actually do it, and then it starts all over again. A memory from the past, contfusion of where I am - who I am, desire to SI, to make it stop, fear, anger, etc....But not always in the same order. It’s like pieces of a puzzle randomly falling from the sky. Fragmented pieces of me; my past and my present, physical and mental feelings and images…I can’t stop it and I can’t articulate what happens, what day it is, or even what year it is, whether I am an adult or a child. It's like the part who wants to cut is only here for a second, and then the crying scared child takes over, followed by a second of the angry teenager, followed by another memory or icky physical feeling...and then again and again....for hours!
It’s sort of like this post. A big jumbled mess of different things…
I have a lot of baggage (no trust or safety)…no directions ~ and no flow-charts.
Should you happen to have the directions, please feel free to mail them to me at:
Saving Grace
C/O CrazyBrain
Gracefully Going Insane
Somewhere On Borderline Boulevard
TraumaTown, USA
Send priority ~ I’ll pay the extra postage!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
I was dizzy and sick. I was scared and bleeding all over the place and the therapist forgot it was Friday
All day long Friday I wanted to hurt myself, and I would have, but I couldn’t figure out a way to stay aware of myself, or my surroundings, long enough to find a razor. I felt confused, and tired, and frustrated, and discouraged...I felt suicidal...an overwhelming desire for it all to just stop. And yet still holding tightly onto knowing that it was Friday and the therapist emails me on Fridays so if I could just get through all of it, I would at least have her “words”, which are a connection of sorts for me on Friday nights, and typically helpful. She had communicated to me on Tues that she wasn’t working so I knew the 5 year old would have to deal without calling her so hopefully the email would help.
But, even still, adult, rational Grace made only brief appearances throughout the day, making it difficult to be aware of anything that was playing out in the “present moment”. I spent the day in a fog, doing things but not remembering I did them, saying things I did not know I said. Strange thoughts like push-pins, pierced painfully through my skull, using my brain as a pin cushion, reminding me of things I want to forget. There was no safe place. Frankly, there never is, there never has been, there’s no “base” no “comfort zone” ~ that’s truly a therapeutic mind-fuck.
I don’t know how the time was spent between the time CB left the therapist a voicemail asking about her cats and the time the therapist called back and left CB a vm stating it was a strange question, and her cats were fine and someone looks after them when she can’t be there, and that CB sounded upset and could call her if there is something she can help with. But the kitties don’t want someone else to look in on them. They want the therapist because she is their mother, and how does she know they are safe if she isn’t with them. What if they need her? They cannot pick up the phone and call her! Why did she act so nonchalant about it? All of these thoughts are racing through CB’s head. According to the phone record, the therapist called back at 6:58pm.
I did not feel well and I had been spotting off and on since Monday’s appointment, it started right when I got home after therapy, and I had brushed off as just a minor annoyance because sometimes weird physical things happen when I talk about that *stuff*. But by Friday night it felt like I was hemorrhaging - like all the uterine lining from the past year of menstrual activity hadn't actually shed itself in a timely fashion and thought it should perhaps do so in that moment...all in one night! Terrible cramps and the blood made me dizzy...and scared.
And the therapist didn’t email me. I’m dizzy and sick and scared and bleeding all over the place and the therapist forgot it was Friday.
But, even still, adult, rational Grace made only brief appearances throughout the day, making it difficult to be aware of anything that was playing out in the “present moment”. I spent the day in a fog, doing things but not remembering I did them, saying things I did not know I said. Strange thoughts like push-pins, pierced painfully through my skull, using my brain as a pin cushion, reminding me of things I want to forget. There was no safe place. Frankly, there never is, there never has been, there’s no “base” no “comfort zone” ~ that’s truly a therapeutic mind-fuck.
I don’t know how the time was spent between the time CB left the therapist a voicemail asking about her cats and the time the therapist called back and left CB a vm stating it was a strange question, and her cats were fine and someone looks after them when she can’t be there, and that CB sounded upset and could call her if there is something she can help with. But the kitties don’t want someone else to look in on them. They want the therapist because she is their mother, and how does she know they are safe if she isn’t with them. What if they need her? They cannot pick up the phone and call her! Why did she act so nonchalant about it? All of these thoughts are racing through CB’s head. According to the phone record, the therapist called back at 6:58pm.
I did not feel well and I had been spotting off and on since Monday’s appointment, it started right when I got home after therapy, and I had brushed off as just a minor annoyance because sometimes weird physical things happen when I talk about that *stuff*. But by Friday night it felt like I was hemorrhaging - like all the uterine lining from the past year of menstrual activity hadn't actually shed itself in a timely fashion and thought it should perhaps do so in that moment...all in one night! Terrible cramps and the blood made me dizzy...and scared.
And the therapist didn’t email me. I’m dizzy and sick and scared and bleeding all over the place and the therapist forgot it was Friday.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Once upon a time...there was silence
Do you know what it's like to feel trapped? That no matter where you turn there is no way out. The light is gradually sucked out of your life. You live in darkness. At first you are afraid of the dark and the agony, but after a while you get used to it. No matter where you turned, you find only pain and abandonment. And at first you find this unsettling you’re human and you crave love and connection. But as time passes you begin to realize that you are undeserving of this bond, and you become a shell with no soul. You no longer exist; you simply drift from moment to moment trying to keep some semblance of sanity. Certain people take notice, but fear overwhelms you and you remain silent. They cannot be trusted. No one can be trusted.
You were little, though in reality you were never allowed to be so, and you realized that is just isn't worth it. It is not worth the pain and heartache - and so you wait....in silence. You do what is expected of you and expect nothing of anyone else. It hurts more than anyone will ever know.
You put up a front for show. You try to shield others from this darkness You were always a pawn in a sick and twisted game; you still are. Your pain does not matter, you do not matter. You become what he wants you to be. And nothing else. You give in to his commands. Partially out of fear but also because you no longer care, and it’s all you’ve ever known. You realized early on that your life is meaningless. You are an object, void of emotion or need. Evil things are said and done, and this is their warped vision of fun. You must deserve this. You must be inherently evil because a kind and gracious God would not allow this to happen. Time passes.......you are in need of guidance but too afraid to ask.
The nightmares from the past still linger, bleeding into your life now. Still, you wait, in silence. Still, you live in fear. There is too much confusion and chaos in your head. You want to scream, but you cry instead.
It is the same now as it was then - crying - alone, lying bleeding on the cold floor. Praying for it all to end. Praying for it to be over. Praying to a God who never heard you then, the God who does not hear you now.
You were little, though in reality you were never allowed to be so, and you realized that is just isn't worth it. It is not worth the pain and heartache - and so you wait....in silence. You do what is expected of you and expect nothing of anyone else. It hurts more than anyone will ever know.
You put up a front for show. You try to shield others from this darkness You were always a pawn in a sick and twisted game; you still are. Your pain does not matter, you do not matter. You become what he wants you to be. And nothing else. You give in to his commands. Partially out of fear but also because you no longer care, and it’s all you’ve ever known. You realized early on that your life is meaningless. You are an object, void of emotion or need. Evil things are said and done, and this is their warped vision of fun. You must deserve this. You must be inherently evil because a kind and gracious God would not allow this to happen. Time passes.......you are in need of guidance but too afraid to ask.
The nightmares from the past still linger, bleeding into your life now. Still, you wait, in silence. Still, you live in fear. There is too much confusion and chaos in your head. You want to scream, but you cry instead.
It is the same now as it was then - crying - alone, lying bleeding on the cold floor. Praying for it all to end. Praying for it to be over. Praying to a God who never heard you then, the God who does not hear you now.
Grace’s safety advisory system been elevated to *RED*
Please be aware of your surroundings at all times and do NOT leave your body unattended....but! I should capitalize that...BUT it is not always a choice. And lately, awareness and attendance to my body have not been a choice. I cannot stay in this body at night. It is uninhabitable. And I tell the therapist there is so much I can’t talk about. So many things that happened that I’m so ashamed of ~ things I cannot believe I did. And I don’t trust myself. I don’t like the huge blackness that surrounds me that continues to threaten me every night.
I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my *present moment*. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate with the therapist about this stuff in 50 minutes a week, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. The therapist tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible. But still she says, be patient, she says she has respect and patience and she will *be here* when I'm ready to talk. But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary. I offered to draw her a picture instead. Her patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and she is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.
It has taken me nearly 4 years to find the ability to say the word sex in front of the therapist ~ and that doesn’t even begin the discussion of the *problems* I have with sex. And for the love of God, if she were to utter the word incest I would fly off into the corner of her office, above the bookshelf with the toys and I would never come back down.
I feel sick. And I feel worried. The food thing is torturing me again…and the puking is back with a vengeance. If I make it through my therapy appointment tomorrow without vomiting on her floor, it will be a festivus miracle! It’s that bad right now. I carry a toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, and keep them in every bathroom of the house ~ I’ve spent a fortune on toothpaste this past month. I have not cut myself ~ but it’s been a struggle.
And I feel worried. And not just for me. My good friend is also struggling and I don’t know how to help her because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help her but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell her that it’s going to be *okay* ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to *okay* ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far. Right now I don’t have the energy to even get myself out of bed and dressed. And I feel sick, and disgusting, and unlovable
The Grace Security threat level* has now been raised to *RED*. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.
I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my *present moment*. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate with the therapist about this stuff in 50 minutes a week, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. The therapist tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible. But still she says, be patient, she says she has respect and patience and she will *be here* when I'm ready to talk. But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary. I offered to draw her a picture instead. Her patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and she is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.
It has taken me nearly 4 years to find the ability to say the word sex in front of the therapist ~ and that doesn’t even begin the discussion of the *problems* I have with sex. And for the love of God, if she were to utter the word incest I would fly off into the corner of her office, above the bookshelf with the toys and I would never come back down.
I feel sick. And I feel worried. The food thing is torturing me again…and the puking is back with a vengeance. If I make it through my therapy appointment tomorrow without vomiting on her floor, it will be a festivus miracle! It’s that bad right now. I carry a toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, and keep them in every bathroom of the house ~ I’ve spent a fortune on toothpaste this past month. I have not cut myself ~ but it’s been a struggle.
And I feel worried. And not just for me. My good friend is also struggling and I don’t know how to help her because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help her but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell her that it’s going to be *okay* ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to *okay* ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far. Right now I don’t have the energy to even get myself out of bed and dressed. And I feel sick, and disgusting, and unlovable
The Grace Security threat level* has now been raised to *RED*. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
You are not her ~ She is not you ~ You do not have to live it...until I did, again, again, & again
Growing up I understood that my parents were not devoted to parenthood, but rather the destruction of my *being* ~ not to be confused with my ‘well-being’ ~ I mean *me*, all that is me, my very essence, my very existence. I lived in a world of shame and fear. I feared his hands, his black leather belt with the silver buckle. I lived in fear of his arms that would grip my shoulders and force me to look him straight in the eyes.
Stop making him mad, Grace. You’d better be careful, Grace. You’re the most willful child on the planet, Grace. Just a bad child. And I knew it, when I looked him in the eyes. I was evil. Of course I was and I could admit it.
But no one would ever know…because if someone knew, surely they would see me as unworthy, evil, dirty. But I told myself, “You are not her. She is not you…you do not have to live it.” And I left that place and I didn’t go back. Until that fateful day I walked by the den.
And it all came back when I saw them there…fucking like dogs in my house. And as I stood there, watching them, I could feel him again, even though he was not with me in that moment, it felt like it. I could feel him exploding though my body, in my mouth. And it's never gone away. It complicates things for me now because I have no words to describe how much it affects in my present life. The therapist tells me it is like the tide, the waves ebb in and then they flow back out and she is teaching me how to ride the waves. And I know she is right, but what I try to communicate back to her is that there are times when something now will trigger a panic inside of me that denies all reason and the waves then crash into me like a hurricane and there is no way to ride them.
Let me give you an example from today. The fam decided to run some after Christmas errands and since I hadn't been out of the house since Tuesday, I thought maybe it was a good idea. "Errands" included lunch out and I've no idea how it came up, the waitress mentioned something her mother used to cook for dinner, "Shit on a Shingle", she said (it was a real classy joint...). She went on to say that she always knew it was right before payday because they would have Shit on a Shingle (chipped beef gravy on toast... the SF cooked that in a cast iron skillet all the time) and I couldn't eat. And when we left, my face was flushed and I was choking back vomit...literally, until I choked and had to puke in the parking lot. That's the part I cannot control~ the 'external' environment...and staying in the house forever is obviously not an option.
And although I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, and when I can think logically, I understand that what he did was not my fault; many nights I am unable to find rationale and logic and on those nights I lack understanding. I find no logic in the deep, dark, murky water. And its during those times when I want to throw myself on the floor like a child and beg the therapist to keep me safe from him...to please make him stop hurting me. It's during those times when I cannot form the words because if I were to form them, speak them aloud, then I would have to admit the truth of the sins I have committed.
Stop making him mad, Grace. You’d better be careful, Grace. You’re the most willful child on the planet, Grace. Just a bad child. And I knew it, when I looked him in the eyes. I was evil. Of course I was and I could admit it.
But no one would ever know…because if someone knew, surely they would see me as unworthy, evil, dirty. But I told myself, “You are not her. She is not you…you do not have to live it.” And I left that place and I didn’t go back. Until that fateful day I walked by the den.
And it all came back when I saw them there…fucking like dogs in my house. And as I stood there, watching them, I could feel him again, even though he was not with me in that moment, it felt like it. I could feel him exploding though my body, in my mouth. And it's never gone away. It complicates things for me now because I have no words to describe how much it affects in my present life. The therapist tells me it is like the tide, the waves ebb in and then they flow back out and she is teaching me how to ride the waves. And I know she is right, but what I try to communicate back to her is that there are times when something now will trigger a panic inside of me that denies all reason and the waves then crash into me like a hurricane and there is no way to ride them.
Let me give you an example from today. The fam decided to run some after Christmas errands and since I hadn't been out of the house since Tuesday, I thought maybe it was a good idea. "Errands" included lunch out and I've no idea how it came up, the waitress mentioned something her mother used to cook for dinner, "Shit on a Shingle", she said (it was a real classy joint...). She went on to say that she always knew it was right before payday because they would have Shit on a Shingle (chipped beef gravy on toast... the SF cooked that in a cast iron skillet all the time) and I couldn't eat. And when we left, my face was flushed and I was choking back vomit...literally, until I choked and had to puke in the parking lot. That's the part I cannot control~ the 'external' environment...and staying in the house forever is obviously not an option.
And although I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, and when I can think logically, I understand that what he did was not my fault; many nights I am unable to find rationale and logic and on those nights I lack understanding. I find no logic in the deep, dark, murky water. And its during those times when I want to throw myself on the floor like a child and beg the therapist to keep me safe from him...to please make him stop hurting me. It's during those times when I cannot form the words because if I were to form them, speak them aloud, then I would have to admit the truth of the sins I have committed.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I am still in pieces...
It still hurts I am still broken and it never goes away. I don't understand why no one ever says, "It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay and you are not broken." Nobody ever did that. Nobody ever held me and told me I would be okay, that I would be safe, that he wouldn't hurt me anymore.
I am still broken into a million pieces. And I cannot put myself back together again.
I am still broken into a million pieces. And I cannot put myself back together again.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The *Room* we don't speak of....
You like, I could draw you a picture...but we don't speak of it....It's too scary.
Grace is bad.
Grace is bad.
You keep on knocking but I am still afraid to let you in...
Last night I left a voicemail for the therapist telling her I was not able to come to session today because I cannot leave the house. She left me a response telling me that it's not a good idea for me to miss session and that I sounded really upset and overwhelmed…and that I could call her if I would like help "problem solving" and developing an action plan to get myself out of bed, and then out of the house. But what the therapist doesn’t seem to understand is that I don’t want to get out of bed, nor do I have any desire to leave the house. I don’t want to get dressed or leave my bed at all. I want to take a sleeping pill and go to sleep – and when I wake up – I want to take another sleeping pill and go to sleep – and over and over and over again, until it stops. And even if I show up for my appointment ~ I’m just going to go back home and climb back into bed and go back to sleep. And she has always told me I should listen to my body and do what my body tells me to do, and right now, it is telling me to sleep 24/7. But then last night she asked me, “Do you know the difference between indulgence and doing just what your body needs?” Evidently not, DT, clearly I do not... Very confusing....because I know that if I do not stay asleep ~ something terrible and irreversable is going to happen to me, by me.
But I called her back so we could ‘develop a plan’ to get my ass out of the house and onto her couch…and I told her I would do my best. I love it when she tells me that if I don’t show up and it’s less than 24 hours, I have to pay anyway…and I retort: it ain’t about the money, DT, I don’t give a shit about the money. I’d pay my entire retirement fund (and believe me, it’s significant!...and it's not a big gamble ~ because she and I both know I ain't going to live that long) for a “happy pill” that will make me forget all this shit and give me the ability to move on with my life, pain free. $120.00 bucks does not mean shit to me! Add in the $50.00 I had to pay someone to watch my kids? Still a drop in the *bucket*. I may be one generation away from poor white trash…but believe me, I make enough money in a month to pay for the trailor I grew up in! It ain’t about the money!
I did show up. I wanted to wear my jams but I thought the sitter might question where I might be going to pajamas…and the only answer I could come up with was: my shrink’s for a slumber party (?). So I got dressed, drank some coffee and found my way to the therapist’s couch.
I sat there on her couch, and I was so tired and so sick to my stomach that I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to be back in my bed, asleep! And she would not let me look at the therapist because the therapist is good and we are bad. That’s when the therapist said, “Grace, there is nothing you can tell me that I cannot hear. I can take and accept anything you want to tell me. I will not see you differently.” Really? Because when I name dropped (compared myself to someone…a *famous* whore) she said she didn’t even know who that was…Yeah, me either…Gawd love the therapist...she is so cute and innocent – yeah, I’m sure I could never say anything that has happened to me, or that I’ve done, that would make the therapist blush, or puke into the trash can next to her desk. No – nothing ~ yeah, right! You just don't KNOW enough DT. And I don't know if you ever will.
I wish I could say I feel better tonight…but regrettably, that is not the case. I am barely breathing…in fact, it’s nearly 7:00pm so I think I will go to bed. I don't feel well tonight, not at all...
While I was dressed and out of the house I did mange to get a few presents for DS & DD ~ and I let them wrap each other's tonight and put them under the tree...so at least that's done. But I am not leaving the house again this year. And I told the therapist I cannot make an appointment for next week because I've no one to watch the kids and I'm not taking them.
No – DT, I still do not know the difference between what my body “needs” and “indulgence”…my body doesn’t talk to me like maybe yours does. But I do know that I have to stay asleep to "stay safe" right now. I do know that much, DT ~ to "stay alive" and not call you, or anyone in a "crisis" I must stay asleep.
The good news is that I am on vacation for 2 weeks ~ that's 2 weeks straight I can sleep and not get dressed ~ so I'd better make sure I have enough meds to make that happen- I'm pretty sure I do....
But I called her back so we could ‘develop a plan’ to get my ass out of the house and onto her couch…and I told her I would do my best. I love it when she tells me that if I don’t show up and it’s less than 24 hours, I have to pay anyway…and I retort: it ain’t about the money, DT, I don’t give a shit about the money. I’d pay my entire retirement fund (and believe me, it’s significant!...and it's not a big gamble ~ because she and I both know I ain't going to live that long) for a “happy pill” that will make me forget all this shit and give me the ability to move on with my life, pain free. $120.00 bucks does not mean shit to me! Add in the $50.00 I had to pay someone to watch my kids? Still a drop in the *bucket*. I may be one generation away from poor white trash…but believe me, I make enough money in a month to pay for the trailor I grew up in! It ain’t about the money!
I did show up. I wanted to wear my jams but I thought the sitter might question where I might be going to pajamas…and the only answer I could come up with was: my shrink’s for a slumber party (?). So I got dressed, drank some coffee and found my way to the therapist’s couch.
I sat there on her couch, and I was so tired and so sick to my stomach that I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to be back in my bed, asleep! And she would not let me look at the therapist because the therapist is good and we are bad. That’s when the therapist said, “Grace, there is nothing you can tell me that I cannot hear. I can take and accept anything you want to tell me. I will not see you differently.” Really? Because when I name dropped (compared myself to someone…a *famous* whore) she said she didn’t even know who that was…Yeah, me either…Gawd love the therapist...she is so cute and innocent – yeah, I’m sure I could never say anything that has happened to me, or that I’ve done, that would make the therapist blush, or puke into the trash can next to her desk. No – nothing ~ yeah, right! You just don't KNOW enough DT. And I don't know if you ever will.
I wish I could say I feel better tonight…but regrettably, that is not the case. I am barely breathing…in fact, it’s nearly 7:00pm so I think I will go to bed. I don't feel well tonight, not at all...
While I was dressed and out of the house I did mange to get a few presents for DS & DD ~ and I let them wrap each other's tonight and put them under the tree...so at least that's done. But I am not leaving the house again this year. And I told the therapist I cannot make an appointment for next week because I've no one to watch the kids and I'm not taking them.
No – DT, I still do not know the difference between what my body “needs” and “indulgence”…my body doesn’t talk to me like maybe yours does. But I do know that I have to stay asleep to "stay safe" right now. I do know that much, DT ~ to "stay alive" and not call you, or anyone in a "crisis" I must stay asleep.
The good news is that I am on vacation for 2 weeks ~ that's 2 weeks straight I can sleep and not get dressed ~ so I'd better make sure I have enough meds to make that happen- I'm pretty sure I do....
My body and I ~ we are not connected. And I don’t know how to make that happen.
I had *crazyhead* on Friday
Last Friday I got confused between then and now. I thought I was past that but obviously I'm not.
Because it happened again. I was 9 when my mother took my little brother and went away for 2 weeks with my biological father and left me with the evil step-father. And last Friday I got *crazyhead* early in the evening and when I was talking to the therapist I cried and told her she couldn't help me. And I got confused. The therapist was suddenly the host body and she left me with the evil kid-f'ing SF. And I told the therapist I did not need her and she could not help me and I hung up on her. And I don't remember much else after that.
I don't know how to get the crazy out of my head. I need to find a cure soon ~ because although I didn't find any cuts/scabs/burns later...this last case of the crazies was worse than most.
I can't get out of bed now...all I want to do is stay asleep...I just want to sleep...
Because it happened again. I was 9 when my mother took my little brother and went away for 2 weeks with my biological father and left me with the evil step-father. And last Friday I got *crazyhead* early in the evening and when I was talking to the therapist I cried and told her she couldn't help me. And I got confused. The therapist was suddenly the host body and she left me with the evil kid-f'ing SF. And I told the therapist I did not need her and she could not help me and I hung up on her. And I don't remember much else after that.
I don't know how to get the crazy out of my head. I need to find a cure soon ~ because although I didn't find any cuts/scabs/burns later...this last case of the crazies was worse than most.
I can't get out of bed now...all I want to do is stay asleep...I just want to sleep...
Monday, December 21, 2009
I am hanging on to the words you say ~ that I am not crazy, and I will be okay
"You are not crazy and you will be okay". I am holding tightly onto your words, dear therapist. I have hidden them under my tear stained pillow where they can be easily reached when I wake up in terror and confusion.
Last Friday night was the worst I’ve experienced in a long time. I know in part it was due to the shameful disclosures I made in the therapist’s office, but there is more to it than that. And I have been trying to put the puzzle together, yet there are still missing pieces lost in the darkness, and it seems as though I have caught another case of trauma brain, in addition to a head cold. As you know *borderline freak outs* are a common side effect of trauma brain and I appreciate her endless patience when dealing with PAG. I understand there is no reasoning with her, which is why I choose to leave when she comes around.
I am sorry that I told the therapist that she doesn’t “get it” ~ that wasn’t fair, and I am sorry for hanging up on her and telling her that I do not need anything from her, including her ‘support’. Last Friday when I was talking to her the giddy sound in her voice and the fact that I perceived she called me back in front of the BF made me feel even more ashamed and embarrassed. And she sounded so happy and from my perspective not in a place where she could possibly understand that Grace’s internal security threat level had gone from a barely supportable ‘orange’ to unendurable “RED” and yet I had no way to communicate that to her because…well, I don’t really know why, exactly…I can only hypothesize and surmise and draw my own conclusions drawn from assumptions and guesswork:
1. I was angry that the therapist called me back from her BF’s house (although, I have to say I do like him better than the fossil – obviously he has email and a dog – and anyone who loves dogs is a-ok in my book) but I didn’t want to be a high-maintenance pain in the ass ~ or rain on her *happy parade* especially since she sounded so giggly and happy and I was in hell.
2. The kids were not home on Friday night and I knew that would make it worse for me ~ they are at least a distraction for part of the night.
3. The hus had already made some inferences that had kicked the 5 year old fear into full defcon 5 trauma brain.
4. I could not regain control of any situation on Friday night. I was not able to control what came out of my mouth, or what my body would do. Nothing! And the later it got ~ the worse it got. I could not stay in my body, or mind, for even 10 minutes.
5. I was not able to soothe any part of me or find any safety at all.
6. I felt like an inconvenience ~ she did not say that...in fact, she was trying to help me, but I felt like an inconvenience because…well, because that’s how I’ve always felt when I need help.
7. ....and other stuff
I know at one point on Friday night I was talking to my friend Lynn on one phone and the therapist on another…but I remember only a snippet of each conversation. It was all surreal – like I was not attached to my body at all – and I couldn’t feel anything, but could see what was happening- and it was complete chaos. I felt like the body I was seeing was dead and there were these people around her trying to help her live but she couldn’t understand them. And it was so loud and chaotic and confusing that I could not handle any of it so I stopped watching because it was weird and scary and tiring and no one could make that girl understand anything – and she just wanted it all to stop. The next thing I remember was the hus waking me up outside at 3am – wondering what the hell I was doing outside, as was I.
And just as I told the therapist she doesn’t “get” what it’s like for me at night, I surely cannot “get” what it must be like for her to try to figure out where I am and what’s going on when I cannot communicate with her and we are on the phone so it’s not like she can ‘see me’ – and I certainly do not “get” what it’s like for her to get a frantic phone call from me when I am in that state…and it’s discouraging because I thought I was doing better. I really did.
And I couldn’t deal with any of it the rest of the weekend so I just stayed in bed. But I’m still holding on…the therapist told me that I will be okay and I am not crazy. I am holding onto her words right now. Because I do not feel okay ~ and I do feel crazy. I feel like I am falling apart…
Last Friday night was the worst I’ve experienced in a long time. I know in part it was due to the shameful disclosures I made in the therapist’s office, but there is more to it than that. And I have been trying to put the puzzle together, yet there are still missing pieces lost in the darkness, and it seems as though I have caught another case of trauma brain, in addition to a head cold. As you know *borderline freak outs* are a common side effect of trauma brain and I appreciate her endless patience when dealing with PAG. I understand there is no reasoning with her, which is why I choose to leave when she comes around.
I am sorry that I told the therapist that she doesn’t “get it” ~ that wasn’t fair, and I am sorry for hanging up on her and telling her that I do not need anything from her, including her ‘support’. Last Friday when I was talking to her the giddy sound in her voice and the fact that I perceived she called me back in front of the BF made me feel even more ashamed and embarrassed. And she sounded so happy and from my perspective not in a place where she could possibly understand that Grace’s internal security threat level had gone from a barely supportable ‘orange’ to unendurable “RED” and yet I had no way to communicate that to her because…well, I don’t really know why, exactly…I can only hypothesize and surmise and draw my own conclusions drawn from assumptions and guesswork:
1. I was angry that the therapist called me back from her BF’s house (although, I have to say I do like him better than the fossil – obviously he has email and a dog – and anyone who loves dogs is a-ok in my book) but I didn’t want to be a high-maintenance pain in the ass ~ or rain on her *happy parade* especially since she sounded so giggly and happy and I was in hell.
2. The kids were not home on Friday night and I knew that would make it worse for me ~ they are at least a distraction for part of the night.
3. The hus had already made some inferences that had kicked the 5 year old fear into full defcon 5 trauma brain.
4. I could not regain control of any situation on Friday night. I was not able to control what came out of my mouth, or what my body would do. Nothing! And the later it got ~ the worse it got. I could not stay in my body, or mind, for even 10 minutes.
5. I was not able to soothe any part of me or find any safety at all.
6. I felt like an inconvenience ~ she did not say that...in fact, she was trying to help me, but I felt like an inconvenience because…well, because that’s how I’ve always felt when I need help.
7. ....and other stuff
I know at one point on Friday night I was talking to my friend Lynn on one phone and the therapist on another…but I remember only a snippet of each conversation. It was all surreal – like I was not attached to my body at all – and I couldn’t feel anything, but could see what was happening- and it was complete chaos. I felt like the body I was seeing was dead and there were these people around her trying to help her live but she couldn’t understand them. And it was so loud and chaotic and confusing that I could not handle any of it so I stopped watching because it was weird and scary and tiring and no one could make that girl understand anything – and she just wanted it all to stop. The next thing I remember was the hus waking me up outside at 3am – wondering what the hell I was doing outside, as was I.
And just as I told the therapist she doesn’t “get” what it’s like for me at night, I surely cannot “get” what it must be like for her to try to figure out where I am and what’s going on when I cannot communicate with her and we are on the phone so it’s not like she can ‘see me’ – and I certainly do not “get” what it’s like for her to get a frantic phone call from me when I am in that state…and it’s discouraging because I thought I was doing better. I really did.
And I couldn’t deal with any of it the rest of the weekend so I just stayed in bed. But I’m still holding on…the therapist told me that I will be okay and I am not crazy. I am holding onto her words right now. Because I do not feel okay ~ and I do feel crazy. I feel like I am falling apart…
Friday, December 18, 2009
Everyone has secrets, right?
Everyone has something they are ashamed of, right? Everyone has something in their in their past that they do not want anyone to know about, don't they? There is no one in the exempt category for this, is there? Even my ultra-religious, never told a lie, grandparents had a secret. They were married for 55 years and when he died, I learned that he had been married before WWII ~ I never knew that ~ neither of them ever mentioned it.
Sometimes secrets are on a 'need to know basis' ~ some secrets are on a 'never to be known' list.
Some things make me feel untouchable ~ some things I do because I don't think I have the right to say no, sometimes I lack the ability ~ sometimes I just give up. Sometimes it just doesn't matter.
Sometimes secrets are on a 'need to know basis' ~ some secrets are on a 'never to be known' list.
Some things make me feel untouchable ~ some things I do because I don't think I have the right to say no, sometimes I lack the ability ~ sometimes I just give up. Sometimes it just doesn't matter.
TEMPORARILY AWAY: relocated to the Island of Misfit Survivors
I don’t know where to go from here. I am bleeding inside and it hurts. I want the hurt to go away and yet I do not want to reach out for any type of help. I continue to struggle with the conflict inside of me, and making decisions that are not consensual with all parts of me, and the backlash that occurs as a result. Once the decision is made there is pushback and anxiety and I while I realize there are no ‘take backs’ I feel like I need to run away to the Island of Misfit Toys right now.
I want some semblance of sanity in my life. I want the pain to go away, or at least dull ~ I want the body stuff to stop and the movies to stop at night. And I know I need help for that to happen….but I don’t want help because I don’t want to depend on someone to help me, and I don’t want the vulnerability of actually talking about it. So where does that leave me? Yes, exactly! On the “Island of Misfit Survivors”, that’s where! Feelings of vulnerability compromise my ‘inner security’, which then sends out alerts to PAG, who then makes life hell, and not just for me. Who doesn’t have issues with trust and vulnerability, right? That’s not a unique quality that simply I must bear. Especially in a one-sided relationship like therapy.
My mind is reeling with the thoughts of someone else seeing the ugly death inside my body that has metastasized into all 5 foot 3 inches of me; and I'm wondering if I even have the ability and strength to try to figure out a way to communicate what I can only describe as an intense pain that cannot be expressed in the verbiage of the human language. The words simply do not exist. And even if they did I don’t know that I would be able to verbalize them.
Last night I found myself literally “Rocking around the Christmas Tree” in the quiet desperation of the darkness. And I sat on the floor, crying and wrapped in a blanket, rocking and counting the white and red lights on the tree in my living room. And when the lights would blur from the tears in my eyes, I would close my eyes, reopen them, and start again…counting and rocking…counting to save myself from shattering, counting to save myself from falling deeper into the pit of hopeless abandonment. Counting and rocking… counting to save my life.
I don’t know what I need ~ to pray harder? That doesn’t work well for me. I should ask someone to pray for me? Maybe that would work. Prayer for strength? I cannot believe I that I am doubting myself yet again just when I thought I had taken a step forward in this fight. My mind is a chaotic mess! I need to go throw up and then try to find something else to focus on. The less I think about this right now, the better.
I want some semblance of sanity in my life. I want the pain to go away, or at least dull ~ I want the body stuff to stop and the movies to stop at night. And I know I need help for that to happen….but I don’t want help because I don’t want to depend on someone to help me, and I don’t want the vulnerability of actually talking about it. So where does that leave me? Yes, exactly! On the “Island of Misfit Survivors”, that’s where! Feelings of vulnerability compromise my ‘inner security’, which then sends out alerts to PAG, who then makes life hell, and not just for me. Who doesn’t have issues with trust and vulnerability, right? That’s not a unique quality that simply I must bear. Especially in a one-sided relationship like therapy.
My mind is reeling with the thoughts of someone else seeing the ugly death inside my body that has metastasized into all 5 foot 3 inches of me; and I'm wondering if I even have the ability and strength to try to figure out a way to communicate what I can only describe as an intense pain that cannot be expressed in the verbiage of the human language. The words simply do not exist. And even if they did I don’t know that I would be able to verbalize them.
Last night I found myself literally “Rocking around the Christmas Tree” in the quiet desperation of the darkness. And I sat on the floor, crying and wrapped in a blanket, rocking and counting the white and red lights on the tree in my living room. And when the lights would blur from the tears in my eyes, I would close my eyes, reopen them, and start again…counting and rocking…counting to save myself from shattering, counting to save myself from falling deeper into the pit of hopeless abandonment. Counting and rocking… counting to save my life.
I don’t know what I need ~ to pray harder? That doesn’t work well for me. I should ask someone to pray for me? Maybe that would work. Prayer for strength? I cannot believe I that I am doubting myself yet again just when I thought I had taken a step forward in this fight. My mind is a chaotic mess! I need to go throw up and then try to find something else to focus on. The less I think about this right now, the better.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
To all the ones I've *wronged* before ~ and an extra special gift to the man to "accidentally" grabbed my ass tonight...
I had to apologize and make amends to a friend of mine this afternoon for something I said last week, as well as some unbecoming behavior exhibited in the course of the conversation. I don't remember the conversation, but I've no doubt it happened....
Late this afternoon a friend of mine walked into my office and in such a kind way she told me how nice I looked and how much she liked my sweater (I, too, think it's a great sweater ~ I wore it once on a day I had T ~ and the therapist told me it looked like a Rorschach test...Really, dear therapist, and just what did you see in the sweater pattern? ~ I guess that was a compliment coming from a shrink?) Anyway, my friend went on to tell me that the last time I wore the sweater....let me use her words, "It wasn't you!" She told me I was mean to her (well, I never!)...and I don't remember the conversation at all. She went on to tell me that I had stormed out of her office in the middle of the conversation, telling her she was acting like a shrink (Ok - I said my shrink) and when she called me a bit later I refused to talk to her. What? I'm sure she's telling the truth (must be the brain tumor) so I apologized to her and she said, "Well, it's nice to have Grace back...."
I hate it when I do things I don't remember...yesterday in T I told the therapist I thought I was doing better and I haven't had any borderline freak outs and sent her any crazy, hateful emails in a long time. And she said I did send one not too long ago...(?) WTF~ wasn't in my sent file! So I freakin' apologized to her too yesterday!
It's not been a great couple of days...in fact, I've had some of those freaky body issues, more than a few crying spells, done a couple of really stupid things (I tend to *act out* when I get really angry or feel unheard about something ~ even if I don't say out loud what that *something* is...something to do with a local police officer who came to pick up the toys we collected for the local kids and I have *priors* with him), have a horrible migraine, and a terrible case of insomnia...my mind has been racing ~ and I haven't been able to focus for a week now!
And I hate that the therapist isn't working tomororw night (although I'm sure she isn't hating having the weekend off...) because I know I'm going to need help tomorrow night ~ especially now that both DS and DD are spending the night with friends and won't be home ~ GREAT! WTF! I don't really like DH right now! But really, I don't like myself because I can't talk to him about ANYTHING! And there ain't no way I'm asking for help tomorrow night ~ not even if there's bloodshed!
Now ~ the kicker to my week, thus far! Tonight, I was shopping with a friend and this disgusting man 'accidentally' hit my shoulder and then grabbed my ass! WTF! Of course, I didn't say anything ~not even when he invaded my personal space at the cash register later, loudly proclaiming how he was shopping for his 'god-daughter' and 'aunt' ~ I care because???? Again, WTF? What the hell gave him to right to grab my ass and fuck up my night!? Of course, marsha dear, would tell me no one but me can eff up my night and I should let it go....cuz I sure can't change it...but it has jacked up my already messed up week!
I am SSSOOOOO a grown-up and I am NOT reaching out for help! Not tonight or tomorrow or the next night! I can and will do this on my own! And I don't care of that does mean some 'maladaptive' behavior and bloodshed! I don't care!!!!!
And what I'd really like is a martini right now! Where the hell is that demon bartender???? Make it a double ~ STAT!!!!!
F**K!!! SH*T!!!!!! DAMN!!!!!!
Late this afternoon a friend of mine walked into my office and in such a kind way she told me how nice I looked and how much she liked my sweater (I, too, think it's a great sweater ~ I wore it once on a day I had T ~ and the therapist told me it looked like a Rorschach test...Really, dear therapist, and just what did you see in the sweater pattern? ~ I guess that was a compliment coming from a shrink?) Anyway, my friend went on to tell me that the last time I wore the sweater....let me use her words, "It wasn't you!" She told me I was mean to her (well, I never!)...and I don't remember the conversation at all. She went on to tell me that I had stormed out of her office in the middle of the conversation, telling her she was acting like a shrink (Ok - I said my shrink) and when she called me a bit later I refused to talk to her. What? I'm sure she's telling the truth (must be the brain tumor) so I apologized to her and she said, "Well, it's nice to have Grace back...."
I hate it when I do things I don't remember...yesterday in T I told the therapist I thought I was doing better and I haven't had any borderline freak outs and sent her any crazy, hateful emails in a long time. And she said I did send one not too long ago...(?) WTF~ wasn't in my sent file! So I freakin' apologized to her too yesterday!
It's not been a great couple of days...in fact, I've had some of those freaky body issues, more than a few crying spells, done a couple of really stupid things (I tend to *act out* when I get really angry or feel unheard about something ~ even if I don't say out loud what that *something* is...something to do with a local police officer who came to pick up the toys we collected for the local kids and I have *priors* with him), have a horrible migraine, and a terrible case of insomnia...my mind has been racing ~ and I haven't been able to focus for a week now!
And I hate that the therapist isn't working tomororw night (although I'm sure she isn't hating having the weekend off...) because I know I'm going to need help tomorrow night ~ especially now that both DS and DD are spending the night with friends and won't be home ~ GREAT! WTF! I don't really like DH right now! But really, I don't like myself because I can't talk to him about ANYTHING! And there ain't no way I'm asking for help tomorrow night ~ not even if there's bloodshed!
Now ~ the kicker to my week, thus far! Tonight, I was shopping with a friend and this disgusting man 'accidentally' hit my shoulder and then grabbed my ass! WTF! Of course, I didn't say anything ~not even when he invaded my personal space at the cash register later, loudly proclaiming how he was shopping for his 'god-daughter' and 'aunt' ~ I care because???? Again, WTF? What the hell gave him to right to grab my ass and fuck up my night!? Of course, marsha dear, would tell me no one but me can eff up my night and I should let it go....cuz I sure can't change it...but it has jacked up my already messed up week!
I am SSSOOOOO a grown-up and I am NOT reaching out for help! Not tonight or tomorrow or the next night! I can and will do this on my own! And I don't care of that does mean some 'maladaptive' behavior and bloodshed! I don't care!!!!!
And what I'd really like is a martini right now! Where the hell is that demon bartender???? Make it a double ~ STAT!!!!!
F**K!!! SH*T!!!!!! DAMN!!!!!!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
If no one trusts, does it matter if everyone lies?
It's hard to talk to the therapist about embarrassing and shameful things ~ 'bad' things. I can talk to my survivor friend, I can write about it here. It feels different for me, to talk to someone who has shared similar experiences…like speaks to like I guess. I’m not saying I have any idea of the therapist’s past ~ but I don’t get the feeling she was f'd by her father, or hated by her mother…and it embarrasses me to talk about where I came from. What I was ~ what he did, and what I continue to do to myself…it sickens me, and it’s f’d up. So I don’t understand how someone cannot judge something so terrible (not what happened to me as a kid –I know she isn’t going to judge that ~ but the stuff I continue to do now that is messed up). I email a friend and I tell her something that is fucked up and she will say, “Yeah, Grace ~ that’s f’d up.” And I know she’s being honest. That was a topic of conversation today during T.
Yesterday I told the therapist some of what happens on Friday nights and then part of me regretted telling her ~ and so I freaked last night and left her a frantic voicemail that she had to promise me she wouldn’t mention anything about Fridays because otherwise I couldn’t come to my appointment…because I was too embarrassed and ashamed and I can’t believe I said anything in the first place. She called me back and told me that she would not mention it and she would wait until all of us were ready to talk about it.
We did talk a little about Friday nights during my appointment today, and I told her it’s f’d up and I’m a freak…and I know she says she’s all nonjudgmental but I don’t believe that ~ how could anyone NOT be…and I wish she would really tell me what she was thinking, even if it is to say, “Gawd Grace, that’s f’d up!” (and not just because it’s always a goal of mine to get the therapist to say the “F” word…) but because Fridays are, in fact, f’d up! And she said she wasn’t thinking that at all…but I don’t believe that. Isn’t that what all therapists say? Like it’s written on page 246 of the ‘manual’ ~ never tell a client she is f’d up.
And so the therapist told me that I should just tell the hus why Friday nights are hard for me and then maybe we could agree to have sex on another night that isn’t so triggering for me. I nearly laughed at that suggestion, since I did not obviously give enough details to allow her to fully understand that it's not about having sex on Fridays…nope, not enough details. It was kinda cute ~ though, her suggestion., and the way she said it. It was almost like making an alternative suggestion to a 5 year old, “Well, Gracie, we don’t have any chocolate ice cream maybe you can have vanilla with chocolate syrup instead?” For the love of God, if she only knew! She would say, “Grace, that’s f’d up…”
Anyway, I’m already dreading this Friday~ and it’s only Wednesday! And I’m not strong enough to tell anyone why, or stop any of it. Sometimes I don’t understand how I got to be an adult….*huge exasperated sigh*!!! The therapist offered a check in call on Friday, but the past 2 Fridays she was working and that means I can talk to her around 11:30 at night. This Friday she is off so she said we could plan a time earlier in the evening…I graciously declined her offer for 2 reasons: (1) she has the weekend off and I’m sure she has plans, and (2) earlier than 11 won’t work for me. Sammy Terry starts at 10… And I can’t stop it - and the last 2 Fridays I talked to her at 11:30 and I was able to at least not hurt myself, or worse. But it was nice of her to offer. I told her I would be okay…even if I hang on by my pinky fingernail, I’ll be okay. And even though I won’t really be “okay” I'm not telling her that…I’ll live.
But Fridays are not “just another night”. Not for me. I cried all the way back to work when I left her office…I don’t even know why….that's f'd up...
Yesterday I told the therapist some of what happens on Friday nights and then part of me regretted telling her ~ and so I freaked last night and left her a frantic voicemail that she had to promise me she wouldn’t mention anything about Fridays because otherwise I couldn’t come to my appointment…because I was too embarrassed and ashamed and I can’t believe I said anything in the first place. She called me back and told me that she would not mention it and she would wait until all of us were ready to talk about it.
We did talk a little about Friday nights during my appointment today, and I told her it’s f’d up and I’m a freak…and I know she says she’s all nonjudgmental but I don’t believe that ~ how could anyone NOT be…and I wish she would really tell me what she was thinking, even if it is to say, “Gawd Grace, that’s f’d up!” (and not just because it’s always a goal of mine to get the therapist to say the “F” word…) but because Fridays are, in fact, f’d up! And she said she wasn’t thinking that at all…but I don’t believe that. Isn’t that what all therapists say? Like it’s written on page 246 of the ‘manual’ ~ never tell a client she is f’d up.
And so the therapist told me that I should just tell the hus why Friday nights are hard for me and then maybe we could agree to have sex on another night that isn’t so triggering for me. I nearly laughed at that suggestion, since I did not obviously give enough details to allow her to fully understand that it's not about having sex on Fridays…nope, not enough details. It was kinda cute ~ though, her suggestion., and the way she said it. It was almost like making an alternative suggestion to a 5 year old, “Well, Gracie, we don’t have any chocolate ice cream maybe you can have vanilla with chocolate syrup instead?” For the love of God, if she only knew! She would say, “Grace, that’s f’d up…”
Anyway, I’m already dreading this Friday~ and it’s only Wednesday! And I’m not strong enough to tell anyone why, or stop any of it. Sometimes I don’t understand how I got to be an adult….*huge exasperated sigh*!!! The therapist offered a check in call on Friday, but the past 2 Fridays she was working and that means I can talk to her around 11:30 at night. This Friday she is off so she said we could plan a time earlier in the evening…I graciously declined her offer for 2 reasons: (1) she has the weekend off and I’m sure she has plans, and (2) earlier than 11 won’t work for me. Sammy Terry starts at 10… And I can’t stop it - and the last 2 Fridays I talked to her at 11:30 and I was able to at least not hurt myself, or worse. But it was nice of her to offer. I told her I would be okay…even if I hang on by my pinky fingernail, I’ll be okay. And even though I won’t really be “okay” I'm not telling her that…I’ll live.
But Fridays are not “just another night”. Not for me. I cried all the way back to work when I left her office…I don’t even know why….that's f'd up...
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