What a day - things started getting intense last night. Had a pretty rough panic attack. But took the xanax. Did as much deep breathing as possible with a three year old demanding I play the part of "Copper" in Fox in the Hound. Managed to resist SI-ing by giving up and going to bed early. Slept okay.
Woke up this morning. Urge is still here but was running late so just got out of house quickly. Drive to work and am slowing down for a light when BUMP - a car hits me from behind. It wasn't bad. Very minor. Got out and looked things over. I think the other driver wasn't sure if he had really hit me or if the sound he heard was his brakes - you know that sound they make when you jam them. Anyway, no damage to either car, so went on to work.
I got to work and was trying to look at my To Do list to see what needed to be done today. I remembered a conversation with my husband from last night when he wanted me to do something. He came in when I was trying to do my deep breathing and said "I need you to look this up for me." It came off kind of demanding and I didn't react real well. After we got our daughter to bed, we talked. He apologized for his tone and I apologized for my reaction. So all was well. Until this morning....
In the past, I have had to over-analyze every little thing. If Husband said something just the slightest bit snappy (like last night), I would play out the various responses in my head - from saying nothing to leaving the house in a huff. The next day I would have trouble remembering what really happened versus what I just "made up" in my head. I just chalked it up to the fact that my brain was always so busy over-analyzing.
Well that has gotten a bit better with this new medication and my brain seems less "busy" now. Last night, I don't remember analyzing things in my head. But right now I can't for sure say whether I looked the info up or whether that was in my head. I hate to ask him - he'd think I was crazy. (edited to add - hubby called and I casually asked if he had gotten the golf reservations. He said he'd call later. So apparently I did look it up and give it to him). I had to look it up in the history of my computer. It's there. So I did look up the info. It still doesn't seem "real" though. If I were in a court of law, I could not swear on the Bible that I had done it, even though I have proof that I did. I have no "feeling" about having done it. This is driving me nuts. I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality. Is this normal? What the hell is happening to me?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
One Big Happy (Connected) Part
Okay so I wrote out my story on here this week and last. When I wrote my story I was actually there. Before, I remembered things but it was in a detached way. Dissociative I guess. This time when I wrote, I did the "shut my eyes and type" trick but I was there. I could see, hear, feel, smell things. It was horrible. On another site, I've seen it called "body memories." I don't know how I typed. I know I took breaks. I know I got sick at one point. I know I lost time. I have no doubt I wrote what I wrote. I remember writing parts. And I know when I typed it, that there were parts that were more clear than ever. Sort of like new memories. But now, in the present, I can't connect with that. I'm not sure how to explain it.
I tried to explain it to my therapist too and couldn't really. When I used to think about (and try to talk about) what happened, it was in a third-person detached way. I could intellectually remember what happened for the most part, but couldn't connect with the emotional part of it. When I was writing this out on here last week, I was connected fully. (too fully if you ask me). But now, again it's like it is someone else. It's as if I can't remain connected to it emotionally. Maybe it is supposed to be that way. Maybe it's a protective mechanism.
I was blog hopping while eating lunch at my desk today. Just cruising around to see what was out there. Got to looking back at some of my old posts on my blog too. Uh oh. I don't remember writing some of them. I mean I know I wrote them. And what is in them is true. But I'm not connected to having written them. I have no "real" sense or feeling that I wrote them, just some inner knowledge that I did. (I don't know if this making any sense whatsoever). I read one post and just about gagged. I can't believe I wrote something so detailed and graphic and just ick. I want to delete it so bad. But I committed when starting this blogging thing to not do that. So I'll just hope it remains buried in my past posts.
When I post and write things, sometimes it gets pretty intense. Sometimes I have to shut my eyes and type (like with My Story). But I'm here writing it and typing it - present in the moment. Then I go back and read it, and while I know I wrote it, it is as if someone else wrote it. I feel no connection - no emotion about what I wrote. Well, not exactly true. Sometimes what I wrote makes me want to throw up. But that's the only emotion I really feel.
So WHY is this bothering me? One is this whole lack of connection between my mind and my emotions. I hate having fuzzy parts. I think maybe (okay, probably not) I could learn to accept fuzziness with past memories. But when current memories (like writing out my story) become fuzzy, it really bothers me. I mean I have what I wrote on here and my blog to know that I wrote it out. I can read it and remember it as being true. But I can't connect with the person who wrote it. It's like there is the "coping, detached" me and the me who experiences emotions.
I just want to feel whole again. Connected. All one big happy (connected) part. Is that too much to ask?
I tried to explain it to my therapist too and couldn't really. When I used to think about (and try to talk about) what happened, it was in a third-person detached way. I could intellectually remember what happened for the most part, but couldn't connect with the emotional part of it. When I was writing this out on here last week, I was connected fully. (too fully if you ask me). But now, again it's like it is someone else. It's as if I can't remain connected to it emotionally. Maybe it is supposed to be that way. Maybe it's a protective mechanism.
I was blog hopping while eating lunch at my desk today. Just cruising around to see what was out there. Got to looking back at some of my old posts on my blog too. Uh oh. I don't remember writing some of them. I mean I know I wrote them. And what is in them is true. But I'm not connected to having written them. I have no "real" sense or feeling that I wrote them, just some inner knowledge that I did. (I don't know if this making any sense whatsoever). I read one post and just about gagged. I can't believe I wrote something so detailed and graphic and just ick. I want to delete it so bad. But I committed when starting this blogging thing to not do that. So I'll just hope it remains buried in my past posts.
When I post and write things, sometimes it gets pretty intense. Sometimes I have to shut my eyes and type (like with My Story). But I'm here writing it and typing it - present in the moment. Then I go back and read it, and while I know I wrote it, it is as if someone else wrote it. I feel no connection - no emotion about what I wrote. Well, not exactly true. Sometimes what I wrote makes me want to throw up. But that's the only emotion I really feel.
So WHY is this bothering me? One is this whole lack of connection between my mind and my emotions. I hate having fuzzy parts. I think maybe (okay, probably not) I could learn to accept fuzziness with past memories. But when current memories (like writing out my story) become fuzzy, it really bothers me. I mean I have what I wrote on here and my blog to know that I wrote it out. I can read it and remember it as being true. But I can't connect with the person who wrote it. It's like there is the "coping, detached" me and the me who experiences emotions.
I just want to feel whole again. Connected. All one big happy (connected) part. Is that too much to ask?
Confrontations - My Story cont (part 8)
To link back to prior Parts (1-7) of My Story click Here
Confronting Mom
I remember bits and pieces of conversations with my mom after the initial disclosure. I remember helping to load items onto the lunch truck she and Toilet were operating. We were having a discussion. I was 15 years old and pregnant and she was telling me what I had to do. At times she made me seem like I had a choice. But then there was the overriding threat (a reoccurring theme) that any other choice would result in my Dad finding out. Then Mom said something about giving me a little bit of time to recover but after that I needed to move on. She said, "You need to get over this. Not like the abuse that you keep holding onto. You need to learn to let go and forget about things."
What horrible advice. Not to mention that her statement is a direct acknowledgment that she knew, 3 years later, that the abuse still bothered me. Yet she did nothing and offered no help.
Later I was in highschool. I believe it was my junior year. I was taking a psychology course and thought that the field of psychology sounded interesting. I had done something wrong and was getting one of Mom's "famous 2 hour lectures." I would zone off during her lectures and became a pro at nodding in the appropriate spots. This time I started debating back with her (perhaps the spark that set my ultimate career path in motion?). She said something about me "making her" do something or feel something. I told her that she had a "choice" about what to do. She started yelling about things not being a choice and I yelled back that she had always had choices but just chose not to use them wisely. She slapped me -- across the face. I considered slapping her back. But didn't.
There was another attempt by me to talk to Mom about the abuse and why she didn't react differently. The details of this conversation are very sketchy. I can't remember exactly what she said but it was something about how she was mad at me. She couldn't understand why her husband preferred me over her. She thought of me as the "other woman."
Confronting Toilet
I don't remember how or why the conversation took place. I can not remember the events preceding the conversation or the events subsequent to the conversation. It is the only conversation I remember having with Toilet about what happened. I remember we were standing on the upper half of our split level staircase. He was coming up the stairs and I was going down. He was a few steps below me and so we were almost eye-level. He looked right at me and in that tone of his, said something about the fact that he was the adult and should have stopped things, but then said to me, "You wanted it. You liked it. You kept coming back for more." He said the blame wasn't all his. I accepted his truth for a very long time, and still do on most days...........
Confronting Mom
I remember bits and pieces of conversations with my mom after the initial disclosure. I remember helping to load items onto the lunch truck she and Toilet were operating. We were having a discussion. I was 15 years old and pregnant and she was telling me what I had to do. At times she made me seem like I had a choice. But then there was the overriding threat (a reoccurring theme) that any other choice would result in my Dad finding out. Then Mom said something about giving me a little bit of time to recover but after that I needed to move on. She said, "You need to get over this. Not like the abuse that you keep holding onto. You need to learn to let go and forget about things."
What horrible advice. Not to mention that her statement is a direct acknowledgment that she knew, 3 years later, that the abuse still bothered me. Yet she did nothing and offered no help.
Later I was in highschool. I believe it was my junior year. I was taking a psychology course and thought that the field of psychology sounded interesting. I had done something wrong and was getting one of Mom's "famous 2 hour lectures." I would zone off during her lectures and became a pro at nodding in the appropriate spots. This time I started debating back with her (perhaps the spark that set my ultimate career path in motion?). She said something about me "making her" do something or feel something. I told her that she had a "choice" about what to do. She started yelling about things not being a choice and I yelled back that she had always had choices but just chose not to use them wisely. She slapped me -- across the face. I considered slapping her back. But didn't.
There was another attempt by me to talk to Mom about the abuse and why she didn't react differently. The details of this conversation are very sketchy. I can't remember exactly what she said but it was something about how she was mad at me. She couldn't understand why her husband preferred me over her. She thought of me as the "other woman."
Confronting Toilet
I don't remember how or why the conversation took place. I can not remember the events preceding the conversation or the events subsequent to the conversation. It is the only conversation I remember having with Toilet about what happened. I remember we were standing on the upper half of our split level staircase. He was coming up the stairs and I was going down. He was a few steps below me and so we were almost eye-level. He looked right at me and in that tone of his, said something about the fact that he was the adult and should have stopped things, but then said to me, "You wanted it. You liked it. You kept coming back for more." He said the blame wasn't all his. I accepted his truth for a very long time, and still do on most days...........
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Georgia Rule - the Movie
I went to see the movie "Georgia Rule" - my sister called and said I had to go see it because it portrayed our family so accurately. I went by myself (not such a good idea). The producers did a good job handling the subject but it was still tough to watch.
(warning - movie spoiler) Jane Fonda is the grandma, Georgia, who lives in a small, predominantly Morman town. Felicity Huffman is the mother, Lilly and Lindsay Lohan plays daughter, Rachel. Rachel graduated highschool early and is set to go to college in the fall. However, she has been doing drugs and acting out for years - lying too about her drug use and other things. When Rachel wrecks her car, it is the last straw. Lilly drags Rachel back to her hometown and dumps Rachel on Grandma.
Lilly and Georgia had a falling out after Lilly's father (Georgia's husband) died. Rachel has only ever seen Grandma one time in her life. Since Lilly can't handle Rachel, she dumps Rachel on Grandma for the summer. Rachel, stuck in an extremely small Idaho town for the summer, immediately tests the boundaries. Grandma is a bit strict with her "Georgia Rule(s)" and Rachel rebels. Rachel flirts with everyone, including a local Morman boy and her "old enough to be her father, used to date her mother" boss. Very flirtatious and very promiscuous.
In a heated moment, Rachel blurts out to her employer (friend/surrogate dad) that her step-father started sleeping with her at age 12. Then when this person tells Grandma and Grandma confronts Lilly, everything hits the fan. Lilly confronts StepDad who naturally denies everything. Then Lilly drives from California back to Georgia's house to confront Rachel. Lilly is sure that Rachel is lying. But Georgia believes Rachel. Torn between the two versions of the truth, Lilly reverts to her old coping mechanism of drinking. Seeing this and wanting to protect her mother, Rachel recants - sort of. She yells at her Mom, something along the lines of "Yes Mom it was a lie, a like when he stuck his tongue down my throat and a lie when he slept with me." It's obvious to the viewer that Rachel is not lying. But wanting to believe the "safer" version, Lilly accepts the recantation. Later Rachel reveals that it started when she was 12, stopped briefly when she was 14 and a boy friend threatened to kill him. Then resumed when StepDad told her she'd have to "earn" her car. Turns out Rachel's latest car wreck is an attempt to revoke that "bondage" that came along with the car.
Rachel has always protected Mom and knows Mom signed a prenup and will end up on the streets if there is a divorce. StepDad has also threatened Rachel. And Rachel knows her recent actions (drug use and lying) don't make her the most believable.
Lilly goes back and forth with believing her daughter, Rachel and believing her husband. Georgia never waivers in her belief of Rachel's initial report. Rachel tries to seduce the young Morman boy and he gives in. She yells something about "wanting him to say no." Then Rachel turns her sights on her father figure/employer. He does say No. She says to him, "Thank you for saying 'No'." And in that moment you realize that Rachel just wanted to be valued for more than her sex appeal.
In the end, Rachel confronts StepDad. She tells him that if he is good to her Mom, that Rachel won't tell. Rachel sticks by her recantation and Mom drives off with StepDad. On the drive, StepDad sticks his foot in his mouth and in a pivotal moment, Lilly abandons him for her daughter.
Overall the movie was pretty good. In a way I'm glad Hollywood is addressing these issues. They did a halfway decent job. I knew what the movie would be about. But others in the theater did not. I watched some of the older couples in the theaters. At first they were shocked at Rachel's actions and promiscuity and then I could see their expressions change as they realized WHY she was acting that way. Maybe, just maybe, people will start to understand.
(warning - movie spoiler) Jane Fonda is the grandma, Georgia, who lives in a small, predominantly Morman town. Felicity Huffman is the mother, Lilly and Lindsay Lohan plays daughter, Rachel. Rachel graduated highschool early and is set to go to college in the fall. However, she has been doing drugs and acting out for years - lying too about her drug use and other things. When Rachel wrecks her car, it is the last straw. Lilly drags Rachel back to her hometown and dumps Rachel on Grandma.
Lilly and Georgia had a falling out after Lilly's father (Georgia's husband) died. Rachel has only ever seen Grandma one time in her life. Since Lilly can't handle Rachel, she dumps Rachel on Grandma for the summer. Rachel, stuck in an extremely small Idaho town for the summer, immediately tests the boundaries. Grandma is a bit strict with her "Georgia Rule(s)" and Rachel rebels. Rachel flirts with everyone, including a local Morman boy and her "old enough to be her father, used to date her mother" boss. Very flirtatious and very promiscuous.
In a heated moment, Rachel blurts out to her employer (friend/surrogate dad) that her step-father started sleeping with her at age 12. Then when this person tells Grandma and Grandma confronts Lilly, everything hits the fan. Lilly confronts StepDad who naturally denies everything. Then Lilly drives from California back to Georgia's house to confront Rachel. Lilly is sure that Rachel is lying. But Georgia believes Rachel. Torn between the two versions of the truth, Lilly reverts to her old coping mechanism of drinking. Seeing this and wanting to protect her mother, Rachel recants - sort of. She yells at her Mom, something along the lines of "Yes Mom it was a lie, a like when he stuck his tongue down my throat and a lie when he slept with me." It's obvious to the viewer that Rachel is not lying. But wanting to believe the "safer" version, Lilly accepts the recantation. Later Rachel reveals that it started when she was 12, stopped briefly when she was 14 and a boy friend threatened to kill him. Then resumed when StepDad told her she'd have to "earn" her car. Turns out Rachel's latest car wreck is an attempt to revoke that "bondage" that came along with the car.
Rachel has always protected Mom and knows Mom signed a prenup and will end up on the streets if there is a divorce. StepDad has also threatened Rachel. And Rachel knows her recent actions (drug use and lying) don't make her the most believable.
Lilly goes back and forth with believing her daughter, Rachel and believing her husband. Georgia never waivers in her belief of Rachel's initial report. Rachel tries to seduce the young Morman boy and he gives in. She yells something about "wanting him to say no." Then Rachel turns her sights on her father figure/employer. He does say No. She says to him, "Thank you for saying 'No'." And in that moment you realize that Rachel just wanted to be valued for more than her sex appeal.
In the end, Rachel confronts StepDad. She tells him that if he is good to her Mom, that Rachel won't tell. Rachel sticks by her recantation and Mom drives off with StepDad. On the drive, StepDad sticks his foot in his mouth and in a pivotal moment, Lilly abandons him for her daughter.
Overall the movie was pretty good. In a way I'm glad Hollywood is addressing these issues. They did a halfway decent job. I knew what the movie would be about. But others in the theater did not. I watched some of the older couples in the theaters. At first they were shocked at Rachel's actions and promiscuity and then I could see their expressions change as they realized WHY she was acting that way. Maybe, just maybe, people will start to understand.
Some of the movie was hard to watch. My Sister was right. It really did depict our family. Down to the fact that the abuse started at age 12 and was by a step-father. Also the words that were spoken. When there is the confrontation between Rachel and Lilly, Rachel tries to express her hurt by detailing what happened. Lilly retaliates by basically accusing Rachel of "stealing her man." Boy did that ring true in my life. I remember (hazily) a conversation where my mother told me she felt as if I were the "other woman."
Then there was the scene at the end when StepDad is yelling, "She wanted it. She seduced me." Those are the words Toilet told me and my mother as well. Only those words didn't trigger the same reaction in my Mom as they did in Lilly. Because in the end, Lilly stands by her daughter.
The movie trailers portray it as a story about how "family ties don't break." Well, they do sometimes. I am a living example.
(I really hope Lindsay Lohan's latest escapades in the press won't detract from the serious message in the film)
For another blogger's perspective on the movie - see Thinking Girl's post.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Happy Memorial Day
I watched a lot of Memorial Day tributes this weekend. This one, Happy Memorial Day Video by Lizzie Palmer, a 15 year old girl, was the most profound.
Lord, please protect our fighting men and women and those serving our country wherever they may be. Please bless,comfort and strengthen their friends and family who are here supporting them. Amen.
Lord, please protect our fighting men and women and those serving our country wherever they may be. Please bless,comfort and strengthen their friends and family who are here supporting them. Amen.
Stop Coming to Me to Solve your Problems
I am struggling so much right now that I find it amazing that people can not tell just by looking at me. I forgot to RSVP to a bridal shower until this past weekend. Then I got in the car Saturday and realized that I had missed it entirely. That is absolutely unlike me - me with my palm pilot, color-coordinated calendar and reminder notes everywhere. When I RSVP-ed late (by email) the host was so understanding and reassuring that it was fine and she'd see me there. Then I forgot to go. I ran into her today at the store and she blew it off like it was no big deal. I'm not so good at reading people and I couldn't tell if she was really irritated or if it really was not a big deal.
Not too long ago, a colleague wanted to pass a matter on to me. His client was needing a divorce from his promiscuous wife. Turns out the Wife had been repeatedly sexually assaulted by her own father. Father died and Wife finally disclosed the abuse to her Husband. Then went on a drunken spree and became very promiscuous, engaging in several affairs. I didn't so much blame Husband for needing his space, and for his desire to keep their children safe until Wife could heal and get back on her feet. But Husband wanted to use Wife's past, as well as her current behaviour, in court. I refused. The fact that she is too drunk to care for her own children - sure that's an argument I can make. The fact that she is somehow unfit because of her childhood ---- sorry, buddy you are on your own there.
I had a phone message last night from a church member. At my church I drafted the Children's Protection Policies which require that any person working with our children and youth be background checked and be a member for at least six months. I'm pretty outspoken about making sure our kids are safe. In my line of work, I deal with, and advocate for, abused children all the time. The church member who called knows this. A very good friend of his was in a bind. Apparently, this person (I'll call him X), had inherited some money a few months ago upon the death of X's mother. X was estranged from his first wife (now deceased) and two daughters, one of which (I'll call her D) lives here in town with her boyfriend and is into the "goth" scene. Church friend tells me all of this and then says "I've know X since we were toddlers and I don't believe this or that he would ever harm anyone at all." I should have hung up there, but I continued listening. I was in the car on the way to lunch with my husband and daughter. Out to have a good family time.
Church friend went on to say that D and her boyfriend didn't have any money and he suspects they want some of X's inheritance. D called X the other night and "made some accusations." I skirted the issue some and finally put on my "work mask" and asked Church Friend exactly what the accusations were. I was hoping for nice, generic descriptions like "sexual assault," "fondle," or "inappropriate touch." Nope. I got the whole story. I actually cut him off midway through. Referred him to another attorney who handles criminal matters. Told him I didnt' handle criminal, which isn't exactly true, because I have before. Told him that I wouldn't handle that type of civil case either - which isn't really true. I would, but only on the other side of it.
Now I don't know if this guy did anything or not. Maybe it is a ploy by D and her boyfriend to get some money. I don't really know X at all except to have seen him visit the church sometimes. I know that everyone that knows X seems to like him. Frankly the first time I met him, I got the "creepy man" vibe but then was kicking myself for feeling that way about someone I didn't know.
I hung up the phone having referred Church Friend to someone who could be of more benefit to X. Truth is, I could have handled the situation from a purely work-related perspective. I have before. But not today. Not now. Not in my current state of mind. And frankly I didn't want to help.
When I hung up the phone, my husband had heard enough of my side of the conversation (despite my attempts to maintain some sort of privilege even though there wasn't technically any requirement to do so). Husband was upset that I was so upset, and that he had been the one to remind me to call Church Friend back.
I guess it just surprises me when things like the above happen. I'm amazed that people can't tell, just by looking at me, what I've experienced. I feel so messed up inside that I find it hard to fathom that people can't tell just by looking at me. I feel like I am wearing this huge scarlet letter across my forehead that tells everyone I'm a victim. I post on abuse survivor sites and I don't ever in any shape or form judge any of them. So why do I judge myself - why do I find it hard to see myself as a victim? See myself as anything other than dirty, ashamed, guilty? Why do I find myself amazed when people come to me for help, when they want to associate with me or spend time with me? When my husband tells me I'm attractive?
I really don't want anyone to know about my past - about the abuse, or my present - about the SI, panic, flashbacks. I'm afraid of what they'll think. Scared of losing my job, my family and everything that I hold close and dear. Afraid others will see me as I see myself. The other part wants people to know. So they will exercise a little more caution around me. So I won't be the one they call when their "friends" need a little help. So they won't make certain jokes around me. So they will turn off certain shows when I am over. Guess it's a huge catch-22.
Not too long ago, a colleague wanted to pass a matter on to me. His client was needing a divorce from his promiscuous wife. Turns out the Wife had been repeatedly sexually assaulted by her own father. Father died and Wife finally disclosed the abuse to her Husband. Then went on a drunken spree and became very promiscuous, engaging in several affairs. I didn't so much blame Husband for needing his space, and for his desire to keep their children safe until Wife could heal and get back on her feet. But Husband wanted to use Wife's past, as well as her current behaviour, in court. I refused. The fact that she is too drunk to care for her own children - sure that's an argument I can make. The fact that she is somehow unfit because of her childhood ---- sorry, buddy you are on your own there.
I had a phone message last night from a church member. At my church I drafted the Children's Protection Policies which require that any person working with our children and youth be background checked and be a member for at least six months. I'm pretty outspoken about making sure our kids are safe. In my line of work, I deal with, and advocate for, abused children all the time. The church member who called knows this. A very good friend of his was in a bind. Apparently, this person (I'll call him X), had inherited some money a few months ago upon the death of X's mother. X was estranged from his first wife (now deceased) and two daughters, one of which (I'll call her D) lives here in town with her boyfriend and is into the "goth" scene. Church friend tells me all of this and then says "I've know X since we were toddlers and I don't believe this or that he would ever harm anyone at all." I should have hung up there, but I continued listening. I was in the car on the way to lunch with my husband and daughter. Out to have a good family time.
Church friend went on to say that D and her boyfriend didn't have any money and he suspects they want some of X's inheritance. D called X the other night and "made some accusations." I skirted the issue some and finally put on my "work mask" and asked Church Friend exactly what the accusations were. I was hoping for nice, generic descriptions like "sexual assault," "fondle," or "inappropriate touch." Nope. I got the whole story. I actually cut him off midway through. Referred him to another attorney who handles criminal matters. Told him I didnt' handle criminal, which isn't exactly true, because I have before. Told him that I wouldn't handle that type of civil case either - which isn't really true. I would, but only on the other side of it.
Now I don't know if this guy did anything or not. Maybe it is a ploy by D and her boyfriend to get some money. I don't really know X at all except to have seen him visit the church sometimes. I know that everyone that knows X seems to like him. Frankly the first time I met him, I got the "creepy man" vibe but then was kicking myself for feeling that way about someone I didn't know.
I hung up the phone having referred Church Friend to someone who could be of more benefit to X. Truth is, I could have handled the situation from a purely work-related perspective. I have before. But not today. Not now. Not in my current state of mind. And frankly I didn't want to help.
When I hung up the phone, my husband had heard enough of my side of the conversation (despite my attempts to maintain some sort of privilege even though there wasn't technically any requirement to do so). Husband was upset that I was so upset, and that he had been the one to remind me to call Church Friend back.
I guess it just surprises me when things like the above happen. I'm amazed that people can't tell, just by looking at me, what I've experienced. I feel so messed up inside that I find it hard to fathom that people can't tell just by looking at me. I feel like I am wearing this huge scarlet letter across my forehead that tells everyone I'm a victim. I post on abuse survivor sites and I don't ever in any shape or form judge any of them. So why do I judge myself - why do I find it hard to see myself as a victim? See myself as anything other than dirty, ashamed, guilty? Why do I find myself amazed when people come to me for help, when they want to associate with me or spend time with me? When my husband tells me I'm attractive?
I really don't want anyone to know about my past - about the abuse, or my present - about the SI, panic, flashbacks. I'm afraid of what they'll think. Scared of losing my job, my family and everything that I hold close and dear. Afraid others will see me as I see myself. The other part wants people to know. So they will exercise a little more caution around me. So I won't be the one they call when their "friends" need a little help. So they won't make certain jokes around me. So they will turn off certain shows when I am over. Guess it's a huge catch-22.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Calling for a Time Out
I am feeling again. Two years ago I would have given my right hand to feel emotions again. Now the old adage rings true -- be careful what you wish for. I know that this healing is a process - a very LONG process, it seems.
I started out being very numb. I wore a mask appropriate to the situation. If I were "supposed to be" happy, I acted happy. Plastered a smile across my face. The only real emotion I could experience was anger - sometimes. And very infrequently - joy, and then usually with respect to my daughter. I decided that wasn't a good way to live life. The anger was hurting my marriage as well.
The good 'ol PTSD kicked in and I started being triggered more and more. I was remembering things that had been forgotten for so long. It was a real struggle. I overcame that hurdle and the anxiety kicked in. Panic attack after panic attack. It was interfering with my entire life. All I could feel was anxiety and panic. The new medication helped with that. Things were calm again. It wasn't numbness, per se. But a feeling of floating a bit. I felt relief and as if life had finally slowed down to a manageable level. Even the jaw surgery, work stress and other things weren't terrible. I was able to cope. I wanted time to stop and figure out this life without panic attacks for awhile.
Now the emotions have kicked in. Before I had time to adjust, I was overwhelmed by this whole "feeling" thing. I haven't felt emotions - unexpected, unplanned, spontaneous emotions, for as long as I can remember. In fact, I really can't remember it. Sometimes it's good - like laughing with friends last night. But then it can flip, like a light switch, and I'm angry or sad. I don't know how to "feel" emotions or to react. It's very overwhelming. And my coping skills....well, they aren't the most healthy.
I wish this was a sports game and I could call for a Time Out. I just need a break for awhile. And I'm trying hard not to stress about what is around the next corner waiting to jump on me in this seemingly never ending road to recovery.
I started out being very numb. I wore a mask appropriate to the situation. If I were "supposed to be" happy, I acted happy. Plastered a smile across my face. The only real emotion I could experience was anger - sometimes. And very infrequently - joy, and then usually with respect to my daughter. I decided that wasn't a good way to live life. The anger was hurting my marriage as well.
The good 'ol PTSD kicked in and I started being triggered more and more. I was remembering things that had been forgotten for so long. It was a real struggle. I overcame that hurdle and the anxiety kicked in. Panic attack after panic attack. It was interfering with my entire life. All I could feel was anxiety and panic. The new medication helped with that. Things were calm again. It wasn't numbness, per se. But a feeling of floating a bit. I felt relief and as if life had finally slowed down to a manageable level. Even the jaw surgery, work stress and other things weren't terrible. I was able to cope. I wanted time to stop and figure out this life without panic attacks for awhile.
Now the emotions have kicked in. Before I had time to adjust, I was overwhelmed by this whole "feeling" thing. I haven't felt emotions - unexpected, unplanned, spontaneous emotions, for as long as I can remember. In fact, I really can't remember it. Sometimes it's good - like laughing with friends last night. But then it can flip, like a light switch, and I'm angry or sad. I don't know how to "feel" emotions or to react. It's very overwhelming. And my coping skills....well, they aren't the most healthy.
I wish this was a sports game and I could call for a Time Out. I just need a break for awhile. And I'm trying hard not to stress about what is around the next corner waiting to jump on me in this seemingly never ending road to recovery.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
After Writing my Story - After the Silence
I survived writing it all down, and have resisted the huge urge to delete it all, close down my blog and drift into oblivion. I've mentioned "After Silence," the forum I visit and post on. I've read other posters' stories and what they've written about how it made them feel, as well as some of the comments y'all have written on my posts here. Apparently, while it sucks now, it will get better. I'm waiting for that feeling.
The hardest thing was writing this out first person. I have written out what happened before and used the first person words "I, me, mine." But it was as if I was writing about someone else and describing what had happened to someone else. This time was different. I never had a moment where I wasn't writing about me. And I was there. Re-living it.
I've heard people use the term "body memories" but didn't really understand what they meant. Body Memories are flashbacks where you do not just see what happened. Rather, you actually re-live it. See, hear, and Feel what happened. It's the feeling part that sucks. I wrote much of part 4 of my story with my eyes closed. Luckily I'm a fairly decent typist (and this blog site has spell-check!) I remembered some details that I haven't remembered before. I also was there. Prior to this, in my memories, flashbacks and even with EMDR, I was watching it happen. I was dissociated, floating in space over my right shoulder, watching. In writing this out, I was there. Actually present and there. The new perspective made me remember things - smells, sights, sounds, etc. Some of it was so clear. I know without a doubt that were you to put 5 car dashboards in front of me, that I could identify the one from my car - by sight and touch and smell. It was that real.
I absolutely love the title of the forum "After Silence." After all, that is where we need to live - in a world AFTER the silence. I think I took the first step over there. The first step off the raft or over the mid-point of the tightrope or off the fence - the step toward staying in the "after" realm. It was horribly long and painful to get here. I'm not sure how I know, but I do know that the pain is going to be worth it.
My task for today is to resist SI-ing. On the one hand, Husband has my Daughter at his folks and I have the entire house to myself. On the other hand, I am here alone with my thoughts, memories and free reign to SI. So I think I'll go run some errands and get out for awhile. Grocery shopping can even be enjoyable without a toddler tugging on your sleeve saying "Mommy I want that."
The hardest thing was writing this out first person. I have written out what happened before and used the first person words "I, me, mine." But it was as if I was writing about someone else and describing what had happened to someone else. This time was different. I never had a moment where I wasn't writing about me. And I was there. Re-living it.
I've heard people use the term "body memories" but didn't really understand what they meant. Body Memories are flashbacks where you do not just see what happened. Rather, you actually re-live it. See, hear, and Feel what happened. It's the feeling part that sucks. I wrote much of part 4 of my story with my eyes closed. Luckily I'm a fairly decent typist (and this blog site has spell-check!) I remembered some details that I haven't remembered before. I also was there. Prior to this, in my memories, flashbacks and even with EMDR, I was watching it happen. I was dissociated, floating in space over my right shoulder, watching. In writing this out, I was there. Actually present and there. The new perspective made me remember things - smells, sights, sounds, etc. Some of it was so clear. I know without a doubt that were you to put 5 car dashboards in front of me, that I could identify the one from my car - by sight and touch and smell. It was that real.
I absolutely love the title of the forum "After Silence." After all, that is where we need to live - in a world AFTER the silence. I think I took the first step over there. The first step off the raft or over the mid-point of the tightrope or off the fence - the step toward staying in the "after" realm. It was horribly long and painful to get here. I'm not sure how I know, but I do know that the pain is going to be worth it.
My task for today is to resist SI-ing. On the one hand, Husband has my Daughter at his folks and I have the entire house to myself. On the other hand, I am here alone with my thoughts, memories and free reign to SI. So I think I'll go run some errands and get out for awhile. Grocery shopping can even be enjoyable without a toddler tugging on your sleeve saying "Mommy I want that."
Friday, May 25, 2007
My Story - Part 7 - After Silence
For Links to prior parts, see Part Six (below).
After Silence
After Silence is an online board for victims of sexual abuse and rape. It has been a lifeline for me, along with my SASF group (you know who you are), my Therapist and my Blogging Friends (especially Tina, Lynn, Jewellybeano and Austin).
This is the first time I've ever written this out in detail. I had some pretty rough flashbacks last night. I was typing this with my eyes closed and remember details I didn't want to remember. Much, much, much thanks to those of you on After Silence Chat last night who talked me through it - sadeyes, Peace4Denise and Windy - I could never have made it through last night without you. And No I didn't work up the courage to call my T (thanks for your encouragement - you know I did try). But she did find me online and I think we'll meet up this afternoon.
I feel vulnerable having posted all this. Despite getting absolutely nothing but support here. I still feel a sense of shame, but less than I did before.
And there is some PROGRESS -- Last night I was dizzy, got sick, and was very panicky and shaky. But a part of me remained in control too. I was able to cry (well okay it was bawling) but I was actually able to let it out and express emotion. I beat my pillow. Cried out to God. It felt ...different...but okay. This morning I had a relapse and did SI but it wasn't horrible - not like it would have been last night.
Thank you for all your support and love.
After Silence
After Silence is an online board for victims of sexual abuse and rape. It has been a lifeline for me, along with my SASF group (you know who you are), my Therapist and my Blogging Friends (especially Tina, Lynn, Jewellybeano and Austin).
This is the first time I've ever written this out in detail. I had some pretty rough flashbacks last night. I was typing this with my eyes closed and remember details I didn't want to remember. Much, much, much thanks to those of you on After Silence Chat last night who talked me through it - sadeyes, Peace4Denise and Windy - I could never have made it through last night without you. And No I didn't work up the courage to call my T (thanks for your encouragement - you know I did try). But she did find me online and I think we'll meet up this afternoon.
I feel vulnerable having posted all this. Despite getting absolutely nothing but support here. I still feel a sense of shame, but less than I did before.
And there is some PROGRESS -- Last night I was dizzy, got sick, and was very panicky and shaky. But a part of me remained in control too. I was able to cry (well okay it was bawling) but I was actually able to let it out and express emotion. I beat my pillow. Cried out to God. It felt ...different...but okay. This morning I had a relapse and did SI but it wasn't horrible - not like it would have been last night.
Thank you for all your support and love.
My Story - Part 6 - The Healing
Prior parts here - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and Part Five.
First Attempt at Getting Help
I thought I was healed. I thought becoming a Christian had healed me. I thought I was done dealing with it all. My Sister's first child was a boy. Mom and her had reconciled to the point where Mom could visit. Mom was not to talk about Toilet in any way.
Mom and Toilet moved 1 state away from me about the time I got married. My Sister got pregnant again and had a girl. Shortly thereafter she suffered a mental breakdown and was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts. At first everyone assumed it was post-partum depression. Sister knew otherwise. Having a baby girl had triggered all her unresolved issues. That started her on her healing process and I have to say (proudly) that she had come a LONG way.
When I mentioned a few years later thinking of having children, Sister encouraged me to to get counseling and deal with my issues first. Having seen what she had been through, I thought it wasn't a bad idea. I did have some concerns about Toilet being around a child of mine. I was still visiting Mom (and him) sporadically.
The first counselor I tried had an office not to far from my work. My Husband went with me. We walked in and there was no one in there. Soon this woman came out, handed me forms and left. We sat there awhile. Same woman came out, took us back and went over insurance. I assumed she was the billing clerk/receptionist. Turns out she was the therapist. We talked about an overview of what I was looking for. She got all excited looking and talked about hypnosis to regain my memories and bringing Mom in to confront her and doing an "intervention." I totally freaked and left. A few months later I decided to try again. Found a counselor who was a Christian and did about 6 months with her. She gave me books to read and we'd discuss them. We mainly worked on boundaries. And she tried to make me see that I wasn't alone.
I got pregnant. A few weeks after I told my Mom, I got a call at work. It was Toilet. He said, "Just wanted to let you know I'm in the area." I freaked - I had been thinking hard about what relationship I wanted my child to have with this person. Toilet didn't want to meet - just thought it was cool he was driving by. Mom called later and said something about Toilet being a "grandpa." I freaked again. I told Mom that I didn't consider him safe to be around children and wanted no further contact. She said "okay." In one later call (about 1 week later) she said "I have something to say and then I don't want to discuss this issue again. She said that I didn't have to worry about Toilet ever contacting me. He didn't want to. He and Mom were hurt that we had this "close" relationship for years and he had been so "good" to me and now I was cutting him off." I was pissed but had guilt feelings too.
Things were good after that. Wonderful pregnancy and beautiful little girl. In the hospital the first night, Husband and I were praying over her. I remember wondering how anyone could hurt a child. I had such a bond and I knew already that if anyone touched her, I'd kill them.
Currently
A little over one year ago, my Husband and I were having the same arguments over and over. I thought marriage counseling would help. I finally convinced him to go. It was good. We dealt with a lot of things and our relationship improved. But I mentioned my childhood but said I was "fine" with it.
Not too much later, there was an Oprah show with Terri Hatcher on it. Lots of talk on a website I post on about another sexual abuse news story. The debate got heated and some feelings hurt. I started a Yahoo Group with about 12 of us who were victims of sexual abuse and we started talking. I also began having horrible panic attacks and determined I needed help. So Hubby insisted I call our therapist. I did and now I've been seeing her individually ever since.
It's been a very tough year. The panic attacks and anxiety became overwhelming. The SI became much, much worse. I remembered more, talked about more and dealt with more over the last year than I have in the prior 18 years. There are times when I wanted to give up. There are times when I wonder if it is worth it. But I think, maybe, just maybe, I am catching a glimpse of a light at the end of the tunnel. So I'm continuing my journey toward that light, plodding along, one step at a time.
First Attempt at Getting Help
I thought I was healed. I thought becoming a Christian had healed me. I thought I was done dealing with it all. My Sister's first child was a boy. Mom and her had reconciled to the point where Mom could visit. Mom was not to talk about Toilet in any way.
Mom and Toilet moved 1 state away from me about the time I got married. My Sister got pregnant again and had a girl. Shortly thereafter she suffered a mental breakdown and was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts. At first everyone assumed it was post-partum depression. Sister knew otherwise. Having a baby girl had triggered all her unresolved issues. That started her on her healing process and I have to say (proudly) that she had come a LONG way.
When I mentioned a few years later thinking of having children, Sister encouraged me to to get counseling and deal with my issues first. Having seen what she had been through, I thought it wasn't a bad idea. I did have some concerns about Toilet being around a child of mine. I was still visiting Mom (and him) sporadically.
The first counselor I tried had an office not to far from my work. My Husband went with me. We walked in and there was no one in there. Soon this woman came out, handed me forms and left. We sat there awhile. Same woman came out, took us back and went over insurance. I assumed she was the billing clerk/receptionist. Turns out she was the therapist. We talked about an overview of what I was looking for. She got all excited looking and talked about hypnosis to regain my memories and bringing Mom in to confront her and doing an "intervention." I totally freaked and left. A few months later I decided to try again. Found a counselor who was a Christian and did about 6 months with her. She gave me books to read and we'd discuss them. We mainly worked on boundaries. And she tried to make me see that I wasn't alone.
I got pregnant. A few weeks after I told my Mom, I got a call at work. It was Toilet. He said, "Just wanted to let you know I'm in the area." I freaked - I had been thinking hard about what relationship I wanted my child to have with this person. Toilet didn't want to meet - just thought it was cool he was driving by. Mom called later and said something about Toilet being a "grandpa." I freaked again. I told Mom that I didn't consider him safe to be around children and wanted no further contact. She said "okay." In one later call (about 1 week later) she said "I have something to say and then I don't want to discuss this issue again. She said that I didn't have to worry about Toilet ever contacting me. He didn't want to. He and Mom were hurt that we had this "close" relationship for years and he had been so "good" to me and now I was cutting him off." I was pissed but had guilt feelings too.
Things were good after that. Wonderful pregnancy and beautiful little girl. In the hospital the first night, Husband and I were praying over her. I remember wondering how anyone could hurt a child. I had such a bond and I knew already that if anyone touched her, I'd kill them.
Currently
A little over one year ago, my Husband and I were having the same arguments over and over. I thought marriage counseling would help. I finally convinced him to go. It was good. We dealt with a lot of things and our relationship improved. But I mentioned my childhood but said I was "fine" with it.
Not too much later, there was an Oprah show with Terri Hatcher on it. Lots of talk on a website I post on about another sexual abuse news story. The debate got heated and some feelings hurt. I started a Yahoo Group with about 12 of us who were victims of sexual abuse and we started talking. I also began having horrible panic attacks and determined I needed help. So Hubby insisted I call our therapist. I did and now I've been seeing her individually ever since.
It's been a very tough year. The panic attacks and anxiety became overwhelming. The SI became much, much worse. I remembered more, talked about more and dealt with more over the last year than I have in the prior 18 years. There are times when I wanted to give up. There are times when I wonder if it is worth it. But I think, maybe, just maybe, I am catching a glimpse of a light at the end of the tunnel. So I'm continuing my journey toward that light, plodding along, one step at a time.
My Story - Part 5 - The Aftermath
To read the other parts, see here - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, & Part Four.
I can't believe I'm considering writing more after last night. It took it's toll on me. But I don't want to leave the ugly part sitting out there. I want you to know the ending. Well, the ending will actually be in Part 6 - that's the good part. Really, there is a good part in all this. I promise.
Telling Mom
Again, timelines are really foggy. My Sister says that when she hit age 12, I warned her to be careful. Toilet got as far as the wet kisses and inappropriate tickling (I didn't write about that part because, while I vaguely remember some of that, it's not clear enough to write about). However, he didn't touch her further than that. Good thing, because I would have had to kill him if he had.
At some point there was an argument between Toilet and me. Perhaps Sister and Mom were involved too. I had forgotten this part for a long time, but Sister remembers it clearly and has filled in some blanks. We were all sitting at the kitchen table. Mom said something about respecting or minding Toilet. In a fit of rage, I blurted out "If you knew what he had done to me, you wouldn't say that." I then ran downstairs to my bedroom and collapsed on my bed. I was there a LONG time before Mom came downstairs. Sister says there was more to that conversation. I don't remember any more - she says that Mom looked at her and asked if she "had anything to add." Sister had seen that Mom didn't react to what I had said (again I have no memory of this) and had seen the rage on Mom's eye so she said "no." Sister told me recently that she has felt guilty about that for years -- guilty for not supporting me.
I do remember Mom coming downstairs. She said something about Toilet having denied everything and then finally admitting. To this day I don't recall what specifically I told my Mom or what he admitted to. I often wonder if Mom only believed me after he admitted things. So I have no idea the extent of what she thinks happened. I think Mom was going to think about things or something. I remember a conversation later. I was given two choices - I could tell in which case Dad would probably try for custody and I'd have to go live with him. He was a good parent in some ways, but I knew without a doubt, that while he was a decent weekend father, he wouldn't handle being a full-time father. I knew the drinking and violence would continue (later facts from my sister would prove my intuition right). The other choice was to stay. Stay in the house and Mom would make Toilet go to counseling. I "chose" to stay. It really wasn't spoken of again.
I later learned that Toilet got 2 sessions of counseling. Mom said something to me later (I don't remember when) about it being due to his increased drinking and some issues Toilet had with his children. (his children had stopped visiting at that point. My Sister years later, ran into one of them, and learned that similar things had happened to them).
The "Faking It" Years
If I wrote out everything that happened, it would take forever. So I'll hit the highlights. And fill in some of this stuff later.
I became the "good girl" ....somewhat. I was an excellent student. I knew my ticket out of there was a scholarship to a school far, far away. Toilet never touched me again. The exposure, inappropriate comments, etc continued. Mom knew - she saw and Sister & I told her - but that wasn't a big deal to her. In high school I began acting out a bit. I drank some, had an older boyfriend, was a bit promiscuous, got pregnant at 15, had an abortion (spare me the "pro life" comments on this please), got sent away to my grandmothers for a summer, snuck out at night, and lied to cover up weekends spent with a boyfriend.
I was sent away one summer to stay with my father's mom in New Hampshire. Mom and I were fighting horribly at that time. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I got away from my family for an entire summer. I hated leaving my sister there though.
Sister moved out the summer before my senior year in high school. She went to live with Dad. We partied hard that summer. Dad had dumped his girlfriend and was gone a lot. I got my license at the end of the summer. We drank every weekend. Ran around in the neighborhood and were wild. I dumped my long-term boyfriend that summer and started dating Sister's friends. They thought I was great because I was an "older woman."
I started my senior year in highschool and Dad called one evening and wanted me to come meet someone. It was an odd conversation. I went over and he introduced me to his "fiance." I had never met this woman. I met her and her 4 children. They married and Amy was moved over to her house. It was cool at first. She had a horse farm and I loved horses. But Dad's Wife (DW) was odd. She had two distinct personalities. One day she was our best friend. Another she was wicked witch. One time I brought a guy over and she started talking about she and Dad's sex life and quizzing me about mine.
One weekend Sister was visiting my Mom. We got a call from Dad and DW screaming. They had found Sister's birth control pills. I had bought them for her. I drove Sister back to Dad's and went down to talk to him. I told him about what DW had been saying and that I wasn't comfortable with it. He agreed it was inappropriate. We heard screaming from 2 floors up and went up. DW was screaming at my Sister who was screaming back. In moments, DW was throwing my sister's stuff off the balcony and telling her she was a bitch, whore and slut and to get out. I tried to diffuse the situation and she called me a slut and a whore too. I started to yell back and Dad came after me. To this day, I don't know where I found the strength. But I stood up straight, looked him in the eye, and said "go ahead and hit me. You'll regret it." He stopped and told us to "get the hell out of his house." We did. I haven't seen him much since.
So Sister moved back into our house. She did get to bring her dog. She started her freshman year, second semester in my high school. I made plans to go 500 miles away to college. Sister was dating a guy at that time and he was keeping an eye on her, so to speak. I left for college, after a bad experience dating "Dave"
I was a wild child my first year in college. Partied hard on the weekends. Tried marijuana for the first time, although I'm proud to say that I limited my drug experimentation to that particular plant! Ended up with alcohol poisoning my freshman year after one particularly lovely night. Went home at the end of the summer not sure what to expect.
I decided that since, at college, I had become a new person, I would continue that charade at home. I pretended everything was fine. Faked a pretty good relationship with Mom and Toilet. My sister had hit the rebellious stage at this point. I've written about her boyfriend before, so I'll just summarize here. Her boyfriend died that summer of alcohol poisoning. Burying him was the hardest experience. Leaving my sister at home alone and going back to college was the worst thing I have ever been through.
In February of my sophomore year I was attending Fellowship of Christian Athletes. I accepted Christ and life changed. I thought everything was "over" and I was "cured." I got a call a few months later that my sister had attempted suicide. She wasn't talking to anyone. I started dating a very nice Christian guy and then went home for the summer.
Next school year Sister and I were distant. Looking back I can see where my Mom kept us apart. Called me when Sister wasn't home and other things where we didn't get to talk often. I found out that Sister had pressed charges against Toilet. Actually she had mentioned something off the cuff to a school counselor (she was seeing one after her suicide attempt) about Toilet exposing himself. It was reported. Charges were brought and he was convicted of lewd conduct. I was never called or knew much about it until it was all over. Toilet had to move out and wear an ankle bracelet - he was on house arrest.
I went to visit him at his apartment. I remember napping on his bed while Mom and he watched TV. I remember thinking "What the hell am I doing?" Sister and I never talked about it. He moved back home later.
I returned to college and Sister moved out and left home. She went to stay with my Dad's ex-girlfriend who took her in and cared for her. Later she got her own place. She struggled for awhile - was raped by a guy she went on a date with, was into drugs pretty heavily, etc. But she settled down, got pregnant and got married. Today, she is a Christian, married to a wonderful guy and has three gorgeous children. She is truly a Survivor. She still struggles on occasion. But she has really come far in her healing process.
I continued to play the "happy family game." Since Dad was out of my life, I began referring to Toilet and Mom as "My parents." I wanted to desperately to have a normal family. Toilet went to my high school graduation, my college graduation and my law school graduation. My sister didn't come - because he was invited. My Sister didn't attend my wedding either. Because I chose to have Toilet escort me down the aisle and give me away. I have a lot of guilt over those choices.
I'd like to say Toilet was "cured" but he wasn't. When I was engaged, a friend and I flew home for a bridal shower. Mom was working and Friend and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie. Toilet was on the chair. I looked over and his hands were down his pants playing. I was stunned. I waited up until Mom came home, took her downstairs and yelled. She cried and said "what do you want me to do about it?" I told her it wasn't like we could call the police because what he did was probably not illegal give we were all adults. I went back upstairs. I heard them yelling. The next morning Friend asked what the commotion was. Mom told me that Toilet says he just had "jock itch" and was scratching.
I let that man walk me down the aisle and he is in all my wedding pictures. He, instead of my sister.
I met my husband and after having a bad experience with the guy I dated 2 years in college who couldn't handle "my past", I was really up front with Husband. We visited Mom and Toilet but I didn't go alone very much at all. Toilet behaved himself in front of Husband. Guess he knew better..........
I can't believe I'm considering writing more after last night. It took it's toll on me. But I don't want to leave the ugly part sitting out there. I want you to know the ending. Well, the ending will actually be in Part 6 - that's the good part. Really, there is a good part in all this. I promise.
Telling Mom
Again, timelines are really foggy. My Sister says that when she hit age 12, I warned her to be careful. Toilet got as far as the wet kisses and inappropriate tickling (I didn't write about that part because, while I vaguely remember some of that, it's not clear enough to write about). However, he didn't touch her further than that. Good thing, because I would have had to kill him if he had.
At some point there was an argument between Toilet and me. Perhaps Sister and Mom were involved too. I had forgotten this part for a long time, but Sister remembers it clearly and has filled in some blanks. We were all sitting at the kitchen table. Mom said something about respecting or minding Toilet. In a fit of rage, I blurted out "If you knew what he had done to me, you wouldn't say that." I then ran downstairs to my bedroom and collapsed on my bed. I was there a LONG time before Mom came downstairs. Sister says there was more to that conversation. I don't remember any more - she says that Mom looked at her and asked if she "had anything to add." Sister had seen that Mom didn't react to what I had said (again I have no memory of this) and had seen the rage on Mom's eye so she said "no." Sister told me recently that she has felt guilty about that for years -- guilty for not supporting me.
I do remember Mom coming downstairs. She said something about Toilet having denied everything and then finally admitting. To this day I don't recall what specifically I told my Mom or what he admitted to. I often wonder if Mom only believed me after he admitted things. So I have no idea the extent of what she thinks happened. I think Mom was going to think about things or something. I remember a conversation later. I was given two choices - I could tell in which case Dad would probably try for custody and I'd have to go live with him. He was a good parent in some ways, but I knew without a doubt, that while he was a decent weekend father, he wouldn't handle being a full-time father. I knew the drinking and violence would continue (later facts from my sister would prove my intuition right). The other choice was to stay. Stay in the house and Mom would make Toilet go to counseling. I "chose" to stay. It really wasn't spoken of again.
I later learned that Toilet got 2 sessions of counseling. Mom said something to me later (I don't remember when) about it being due to his increased drinking and some issues Toilet had with his children. (his children had stopped visiting at that point. My Sister years later, ran into one of them, and learned that similar things had happened to them).
The "Faking It" Years
If I wrote out everything that happened, it would take forever. So I'll hit the highlights. And fill in some of this stuff later.
I became the "good girl" ....somewhat. I was an excellent student. I knew my ticket out of there was a scholarship to a school far, far away. Toilet never touched me again. The exposure, inappropriate comments, etc continued. Mom knew - she saw and Sister & I told her - but that wasn't a big deal to her. In high school I began acting out a bit. I drank some, had an older boyfriend, was a bit promiscuous, got pregnant at 15, had an abortion (spare me the "pro life" comments on this please), got sent away to my grandmothers for a summer, snuck out at night, and lied to cover up weekends spent with a boyfriend.
I was sent away one summer to stay with my father's mom in New Hampshire. Mom and I were fighting horribly at that time. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I got away from my family for an entire summer. I hated leaving my sister there though.
Sister moved out the summer before my senior year in high school. She went to live with Dad. We partied hard that summer. Dad had dumped his girlfriend and was gone a lot. I got my license at the end of the summer. We drank every weekend. Ran around in the neighborhood and were wild. I dumped my long-term boyfriend that summer and started dating Sister's friends. They thought I was great because I was an "older woman."
I started my senior year in highschool and Dad called one evening and wanted me to come meet someone. It was an odd conversation. I went over and he introduced me to his "fiance." I had never met this woman. I met her and her 4 children. They married and Amy was moved over to her house. It was cool at first. She had a horse farm and I loved horses. But Dad's Wife (DW) was odd. She had two distinct personalities. One day she was our best friend. Another she was wicked witch. One time I brought a guy over and she started talking about she and Dad's sex life and quizzing me about mine.
One weekend Sister was visiting my Mom. We got a call from Dad and DW screaming. They had found Sister's birth control pills. I had bought them for her. I drove Sister back to Dad's and went down to talk to him. I told him about what DW had been saying and that I wasn't comfortable with it. He agreed it was inappropriate. We heard screaming from 2 floors up and went up. DW was screaming at my Sister who was screaming back. In moments, DW was throwing my sister's stuff off the balcony and telling her she was a bitch, whore and slut and to get out. I tried to diffuse the situation and she called me a slut and a whore too. I started to yell back and Dad came after me. To this day, I don't know where I found the strength. But I stood up straight, looked him in the eye, and said "go ahead and hit me. You'll regret it." He stopped and told us to "get the hell out of his house." We did. I haven't seen him much since.
So Sister moved back into our house. She did get to bring her dog. She started her freshman year, second semester in my high school. I made plans to go 500 miles away to college. Sister was dating a guy at that time and he was keeping an eye on her, so to speak. I left for college, after a bad experience dating "Dave"
I was a wild child my first year in college. Partied hard on the weekends. Tried marijuana for the first time, although I'm proud to say that I limited my drug experimentation to that particular plant! Ended up with alcohol poisoning my freshman year after one particularly lovely night. Went home at the end of the summer not sure what to expect.
I decided that since, at college, I had become a new person, I would continue that charade at home. I pretended everything was fine. Faked a pretty good relationship with Mom and Toilet. My sister had hit the rebellious stage at this point. I've written about her boyfriend before, so I'll just summarize here. Her boyfriend died that summer of alcohol poisoning. Burying him was the hardest experience. Leaving my sister at home alone and going back to college was the worst thing I have ever been through.
In February of my sophomore year I was attending Fellowship of Christian Athletes. I accepted Christ and life changed. I thought everything was "over" and I was "cured." I got a call a few months later that my sister had attempted suicide. She wasn't talking to anyone. I started dating a very nice Christian guy and then went home for the summer.
Next school year Sister and I were distant. Looking back I can see where my Mom kept us apart. Called me when Sister wasn't home and other things where we didn't get to talk often. I found out that Sister had pressed charges against Toilet. Actually she had mentioned something off the cuff to a school counselor (she was seeing one after her suicide attempt) about Toilet exposing himself. It was reported. Charges were brought and he was convicted of lewd conduct. I was never called or knew much about it until it was all over. Toilet had to move out and wear an ankle bracelet - he was on house arrest.
I went to visit him at his apartment. I remember napping on his bed while Mom and he watched TV. I remember thinking "What the hell am I doing?" Sister and I never talked about it. He moved back home later.
I returned to college and Sister moved out and left home. She went to stay with my Dad's ex-girlfriend who took her in and cared for her. Later she got her own place. She struggled for awhile - was raped by a guy she went on a date with, was into drugs pretty heavily, etc. But she settled down, got pregnant and got married. Today, she is a Christian, married to a wonderful guy and has three gorgeous children. She is truly a Survivor. She still struggles on occasion. But she has really come far in her healing process.
I continued to play the "happy family game." Since Dad was out of my life, I began referring to Toilet and Mom as "My parents." I wanted to desperately to have a normal family. Toilet went to my high school graduation, my college graduation and my law school graduation. My sister didn't come - because he was invited. My Sister didn't attend my wedding either. Because I chose to have Toilet escort me down the aisle and give me away. I have a lot of guilt over those choices.
I'd like to say Toilet was "cured" but he wasn't. When I was engaged, a friend and I flew home for a bridal shower. Mom was working and Friend and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie. Toilet was on the chair. I looked over and his hands were down his pants playing. I was stunned. I waited up until Mom came home, took her downstairs and yelled. She cried and said "what do you want me to do about it?" I told her it wasn't like we could call the police because what he did was probably not illegal give we were all adults. I went back upstairs. I heard them yelling. The next morning Friend asked what the commotion was. Mom told me that Toilet says he just had "jock itch" and was scratching.
I let that man walk me down the aisle and he is in all my wedding pictures. He, instead of my sister.
I met my husband and after having a bad experience with the guy I dated 2 years in college who couldn't handle "my past", I was really up front with Husband. We visited Mom and Toilet but I didn't go alone very much at all. Toilet behaved himself in front of Husband. Guess he knew better..........
Thursday, May 24, 2007
My Story - Part 4 - the Sexual Abuse
For the preceding parts - see Part One, Part Two and Part Three.
I've been posting my story on After Silence as I post it here. I've gotten comments both here and there that have been so touching. Not one single person has judged me. People have related, complimented my writing and congratulated me on surviving. What a difference from when I told as a child. It is only through their (your) supportive reaction that I have the strength to try to write Part Four. That and I have a compelling need to get this over with.
The Touching
I've never forgotten that I was abused. The details were sketchy for a long time. For many years I forgot one of the three major "events" but now, ironically, I can't remember which one I forgot.
Toilet had long hair and a long beard. Very hippy-like. Except he was balding on top. His weight fluctuated up and down. But he lifted weights and was always strong. His hands always seemed greasy and dirty and calloused.
Mom always gave us a kiss and a hug goodnight. Dad did too. We didn't get much other affection than that. Not a whole lot of snuggling that I remember. Actually now that I think about it, I can only remember kissing and hugging my dad before bed and when we would leave at the end of the weekend. My mom would sometimes say "I need a hug" but I can't remember any snuggling - even when I was a child.
I would kiss Toilet before bed and give him a hug too. He didn't have teeth. He wore dentures. When he would chew gum, he would make this chomping/smacking sound. It was icky and the sound of gum chomping to this day will trigger me. Toilet didn't like wearing his dentures. He would leave them in a cup by the sink - just to gross us out. When he would give us a kiss, he would lick his lips first and the kisses were always wet and sloppy and gross. Over time the kisses became wetter and sometimes I thought I surprised him by kissing him goodnight because I'd catch him with his mouth partly open. I didn't realize it was on purpose.
The Basement
Our house was a split level. When you walked in the front door you faced a set of stairs. You could go up or down. Up was the living room, kitchen, bathroom and 3 bedrooms - mom/toilet's room, my Sister's room and a guest room. Downstairs was a storage room, the laundry area, the rec room with bar and my bedroom. There was a half bath down there too.
In the summers, we practically lived in the basement. It was cool down there. Mom and Toilet were drinking a lot that summer. I say "that summer" but I really can't remember if was the summer before or after 7th grade. I was either going on 11 or 12. As you walked down the stairs, there was a square cut out in the wall divided by vertical banister posts. If you positioned yourself right upstairs, you could see into the rec area downstairs. We'd often yell between the floors for someone to bring us something from the kitchen downstairs, or vice versa.
The bar was pretty cool, or so I thought then. It was dark brown wood with twinkling lights and beer signs. I was the only girl I know that had a "real" bar in their basement with a beer keg (beer meister) and everything. The keg would get replaced probably every weekend or so. Sister and I learned how to fill the pitchers just right, without any foam - or head, as they called it. We were called beer "wenches" and thought it was funny.
In front of the bar were three black vinyl bar stools. The high back kind. Sister and I would sit on them and spin around, making ourselves dizzy. One summer evening I was downstairs with Mom and Toilet. I think it was evening. I think I was wearing purple cotton shorts with a purple top. I can't remember if I was wearing a bra or not - but I seem to think not, although I can't imagine why I wouldn't have been.
Toilet was great at cracking backs. He would pop my mom's back and then rub it. She worked on her feet all the time and needed it done quite often. Sometimes he would pop mine too. He also had a way of picking you up and squeezing you real tight or kind of shaking you down his front that would pop it. I can still pop my back easily to this day - but I do it myself by twisting.
That evening I somehow ended up with my back facing away from him. He was sitting behind me and I was between his legs - our barstools were really close. I don't know where the backs of the stools were but they weren't in between us. He started off rubbing my shoulders and back. Then it was as if his hands were suddenly around front. I think maybe I do remember having a bra on and him reaching underneath. It felt strange - I was so confused but it didn't exactly feel bad but I didn't know what was going on. Mom was upstairs and there was a noise and he jumped back and stopped what he was doing. I sat there in shock. Then I guess he realized Mom wasn't coming down. Maybe I leaned back (Oh god why would I have done that) and he started again. And then we did hear Mom and I think he said something like "don't tell your Mom about this" or something to that effect. I went to my room. I don't remember anything else.
okay I'm still breathing, albeit jaggedly so I'll try the next section. Even though the room is spinning. Deep breath. I don't remember which came first - the car or the bedroom or if the bedroom was in between the car incidents.
The Car
We had a huge cream colored old station wagon. Sister and I called it the banana boat. It had tan/brown colored interior and reeked of cigarette smoke. When the beer keg would run out, a new one had to be obtained from the liquor store. The station wagon was taken because it was easier to lift the keg in and out of the wagon than in and out of the only other vehicle - a pick up truck. It was easier to get the keg when two people would roll/spin it on it's edge. However, Toilet was capable of getting it himself.
I went with him one time - not sure if whose suggestion it was, if anyones. I sat in the front seat. It was a long bench seat. He drove with one hand - his left hand. Years of practice of needing his right hand free to swing open the bus door or shift the tractor trailer gears. Details are fuzzy. I want to remember them if they are what I want them to be. I don't want to remember if they are not. I don't want to think of my acquiescing or even worse, cooperating, in any way.
I ended up closer to him - maybe in the middle of the seat. Not sure whether I was seatbelted, or the shoulder part was behind me, or what. I had shorts on. His hands reached either up or down my shorts. I can't remember. I didn't know what he was doing. I felt a prodding hand and fingers and it didn't feel good. His fingers were inside my clothes and rubbing and it hurt. I can picture his grungy greasy fingers and dirty nails and I was disgusted knowing they were next to my skin.
This happened more than once. I don't know how many times. I don't know why I continued to get in the car with him and go. I don't think I was forced - so why did I go. I knew it would happen again. When it did, he was so happy and I was his good little girl who got gum and treats. And Mom was happy because he was happy.
I don't think it was the first time. I think it was the second or a later time. That time he pushed his fingers inside. It hurt. His nails scratched me and it hurt. He said something. I don't know what and I don't want to remember. The car and bedroom incidents get mixed up in my head. I think he said "move closer or this way or that way" and I think I did. I think he asked, "doesn't that feel good" and I think I nodded. Why did I do that? He would take a break sometime if we stopped at a light or he needed both hands. It hurt. His nails scraped and he'd leer at my face and the Noises my body would make. He would do it again.
When we would get home, he would stop.
I've just got to get this finished now. If I can hold on just a tiny bit longer. I can do this. I just have to stay with it. Disociating would be so much easier right now.
The Bedroom
We would watch movies in Mom/Toilet's room sometimes. I don't remember why. Sometimes the VCR in the family room was broken. Mom kept one in her room so she could tape her soap operas. We were all in there - Mom, Toilet, Sister and I. Mom and Amy were on the bed. Toilet and I were on the floor. They had a cream colored bedspread with brown vines and green leaves. I remember every detail of that bedspread.
Mom was lying on her stomach facing the TV with her side to me. Sister was sitting up, further away, but she could see me. Toilet was on the floor, on his side with his back to their dresser. I was in front of him, on my side. We were all facing the TV. I don't remember what was on TV.
He reached his hand underneath my shorts from behind. He snuggled up behind me. I can feel his warm breath and wet mouth on my ear. To this day I can't handle anyone near my ear or whispering in my ear or coming up behind me or snuggling from behind. He was doing what he did in the car. And whispering. He said, "you're so wet." And I hated myself. Mom moved and got up. I know she went outside - I think to smoke. Toilet jumped and followed her - he may have gone into the bathroom first. When he jumped, it hurt me. Sister looked at me and asked me "what was he doing?" I said, "nothing" and she walked out. My memory blanks after that.
I will have to write the Telling and Aftereffects and bring it up to current date later. Now I need to go throw up.
I've been posting my story on After Silence as I post it here. I've gotten comments both here and there that have been so touching. Not one single person has judged me. People have related, complimented my writing and congratulated me on surviving. What a difference from when I told as a child. It is only through their (your) supportive reaction that I have the strength to try to write Part Four. That and I have a compelling need to get this over with.
The Touching
I've never forgotten that I was abused. The details were sketchy for a long time. For many years I forgot one of the three major "events" but now, ironically, I can't remember which one I forgot.
Toilet had long hair and a long beard. Very hippy-like. Except he was balding on top. His weight fluctuated up and down. But he lifted weights and was always strong. His hands always seemed greasy and dirty and calloused.
Mom always gave us a kiss and a hug goodnight. Dad did too. We didn't get much other affection than that. Not a whole lot of snuggling that I remember. Actually now that I think about it, I can only remember kissing and hugging my dad before bed and when we would leave at the end of the weekend. My mom would sometimes say "I need a hug" but I can't remember any snuggling - even when I was a child.
I would kiss Toilet before bed and give him a hug too. He didn't have teeth. He wore dentures. When he would chew gum, he would make this chomping/smacking sound. It was icky and the sound of gum chomping to this day will trigger me. Toilet didn't like wearing his dentures. He would leave them in a cup by the sink - just to gross us out. When he would give us a kiss, he would lick his lips first and the kisses were always wet and sloppy and gross. Over time the kisses became wetter and sometimes I thought I surprised him by kissing him goodnight because I'd catch him with his mouth partly open. I didn't realize it was on purpose.
The Basement
Our house was a split level. When you walked in the front door you faced a set of stairs. You could go up or down. Up was the living room, kitchen, bathroom and 3 bedrooms - mom/toilet's room, my Sister's room and a guest room. Downstairs was a storage room, the laundry area, the rec room with bar and my bedroom. There was a half bath down there too.
In the summers, we practically lived in the basement. It was cool down there. Mom and Toilet were drinking a lot that summer. I say "that summer" but I really can't remember if was the summer before or after 7th grade. I was either going on 11 or 12. As you walked down the stairs, there was a square cut out in the wall divided by vertical banister posts. If you positioned yourself right upstairs, you could see into the rec area downstairs. We'd often yell between the floors for someone to bring us something from the kitchen downstairs, or vice versa.
The bar was pretty cool, or so I thought then. It was dark brown wood with twinkling lights and beer signs. I was the only girl I know that had a "real" bar in their basement with a beer keg (beer meister) and everything. The keg would get replaced probably every weekend or so. Sister and I learned how to fill the pitchers just right, without any foam - or head, as they called it. We were called beer "wenches" and thought it was funny.
In front of the bar were three black vinyl bar stools. The high back kind. Sister and I would sit on them and spin around, making ourselves dizzy. One summer evening I was downstairs with Mom and Toilet. I think it was evening. I think I was wearing purple cotton shorts with a purple top. I can't remember if I was wearing a bra or not - but I seem to think not, although I can't imagine why I wouldn't have been.
Toilet was great at cracking backs. He would pop my mom's back and then rub it. She worked on her feet all the time and needed it done quite often. Sometimes he would pop mine too. He also had a way of picking you up and squeezing you real tight or kind of shaking you down his front that would pop it. I can still pop my back easily to this day - but I do it myself by twisting.
That evening I somehow ended up with my back facing away from him. He was sitting behind me and I was between his legs - our barstools were really close. I don't know where the backs of the stools were but they weren't in between us. He started off rubbing my shoulders and back. Then it was as if his hands were suddenly around front. I think maybe I do remember having a bra on and him reaching underneath. It felt strange - I was so confused but it didn't exactly feel bad but I didn't know what was going on. Mom was upstairs and there was a noise and he jumped back and stopped what he was doing. I sat there in shock. Then I guess he realized Mom wasn't coming down. Maybe I leaned back (Oh god why would I have done that) and he started again. And then we did hear Mom and I think he said something like "don't tell your Mom about this" or something to that effect. I went to my room. I don't remember anything else.
okay I'm still breathing, albeit jaggedly so I'll try the next section. Even though the room is spinning. Deep breath. I don't remember which came first - the car or the bedroom or if the bedroom was in between the car incidents.
The Car
We had a huge cream colored old station wagon. Sister and I called it the banana boat. It had tan/brown colored interior and reeked of cigarette smoke. When the beer keg would run out, a new one had to be obtained from the liquor store. The station wagon was taken because it was easier to lift the keg in and out of the wagon than in and out of the only other vehicle - a pick up truck. It was easier to get the keg when two people would roll/spin it on it's edge. However, Toilet was capable of getting it himself.
I went with him one time - not sure if whose suggestion it was, if anyones. I sat in the front seat. It was a long bench seat. He drove with one hand - his left hand. Years of practice of needing his right hand free to swing open the bus door or shift the tractor trailer gears. Details are fuzzy. I want to remember them if they are what I want them to be. I don't want to remember if they are not. I don't want to think of my acquiescing or even worse, cooperating, in any way.
I ended up closer to him - maybe in the middle of the seat. Not sure whether I was seatbelted, or the shoulder part was behind me, or what. I had shorts on. His hands reached either up or down my shorts. I can't remember. I didn't know what he was doing. I felt a prodding hand and fingers and it didn't feel good. His fingers were inside my clothes and rubbing and it hurt. I can picture his grungy greasy fingers and dirty nails and I was disgusted knowing they were next to my skin.
This happened more than once. I don't know how many times. I don't know why I continued to get in the car with him and go. I don't think I was forced - so why did I go. I knew it would happen again. When it did, he was so happy and I was his good little girl who got gum and treats. And Mom was happy because he was happy.
I don't think it was the first time. I think it was the second or a later time. That time he pushed his fingers inside. It hurt. His nails scratched me and it hurt. He said something. I don't know what and I don't want to remember. The car and bedroom incidents get mixed up in my head. I think he said "move closer or this way or that way" and I think I did. I think he asked, "doesn't that feel good" and I think I nodded. Why did I do that? He would take a break sometime if we stopped at a light or he needed both hands. It hurt. His nails scraped and he'd leer at my face and the Noises my body would make. He would do it again.
When we would get home, he would stop.
I've just got to get this finished now. If I can hold on just a tiny bit longer. I can do this. I just have to stay with it. Disociating would be so much easier right now.
The Bedroom
We would watch movies in Mom/Toilet's room sometimes. I don't remember why. Sometimes the VCR in the family room was broken. Mom kept one in her room so she could tape her soap operas. We were all in there - Mom, Toilet, Sister and I. Mom and Amy were on the bed. Toilet and I were on the floor. They had a cream colored bedspread with brown vines and green leaves. I remember every detail of that bedspread.
Mom was lying on her stomach facing the TV with her side to me. Sister was sitting up, further away, but she could see me. Toilet was on the floor, on his side with his back to their dresser. I was in front of him, on my side. We were all facing the TV. I don't remember what was on TV.
He reached his hand underneath my shorts from behind. He snuggled up behind me. I can feel his warm breath and wet mouth on my ear. To this day I can't handle anyone near my ear or whispering in my ear or coming up behind me or snuggling from behind. He was doing what he did in the car. And whispering. He said, "you're so wet." And I hated myself. Mom moved and got up. I know she went outside - I think to smoke. Toilet jumped and followed her - he may have gone into the bathroom first. When he jumped, it hurt me. Sister looked at me and asked me "what was he doing?" I said, "nothing" and she walked out. My memory blanks after that.
I will have to write the Telling and Aftereffects and bring it up to current date later. Now I need to go throw up.
My Story - Part 3 - Non-Touching Abuse
Part One and Part Two are in prior posts.
In Part Four, I'm going to have to get into the actual touching part, and I'm wanting to put that off a bit. In addition I realized that there are a few things I left off. And the non-touching abuse was just as bad and continued far longer, so it definitely warrants attention. So here is Part Three.
Apartment (cont.).
We lived in the apartment for one year. During that year I started my period for the first time. I had horrible cramps - bad enough to keep me curled up on the couch for days. Mom had always had vicious cycles so she told me it was "normal" and offered ibuprofen with a tiny bit of sympathy. One day I was having a particularly rough time and lying on the couch with a hot heating pad, kind of rubbing my lower abdominal area. Toilet came over and started rubbing it for me.
It made me feel uncomfortable but I didn't say anything. (see this Post for more on this)
Sometime that year, my sister mentioned something disturbing to me. She had left to get on the school bus, but realized she had forgotten something in the apartment. She went back and used her key to get in. Apparently Toilet had woken up and was walking around the apartment naked. Now he and Mom's room/bathroom were at the opposite end of the house than anything else. So no cause for him to be in that end of the house without clothing. Sister said he made some excuse and she just dismissed it. Although she did mention it to me.
At the end of 6th grade we moved into a house and switched schools again. It was okay with me - I hated that school anyway and didn't have any friends there.
This is where my time line gets really fuzzy. I hate not being able to narrow down a particular date or event or time.
In any event, sometime after we moved, life became crazy. My Dad had moved too. He found a girlfriend and she moved in with him. They had a house nearby and Sister and I visited alternating weekends. Dad's house was in our old school district and so we had friends over there too.
Toilet as the Protector
I ~think~ (best as I can recall) that this happened before the touching. Dad was still drinking quite a bit. I had a friend stay the night at his house.
(deleting rambling paragraphs wherein I try to sort out timetable because it drives me absolutely bonkers that I can't figure out when things happened or whether one event happened before or after another - drives me to a panic attack).
Dad was drinking and drove Sister, friend and I home. Dropped friend off. Then took Sister and I home. Somehow Mom and Toilet knew. They came outside and a fight ensued. I don't remember details. But Toilet hit Dad's car with a baseball bat. He was protecting Sister and I. He made me feel safe. It was amazing to have someone stand up for me. This incident stood out in my mind later when I was forced to choose between Dad the drunk, violent one and Toilet the evil sex monster.
Toilet - the Good Side
(wondering why I find myself compelled to put the good stuff first. I know some of it didn't happen chronologically here. A long time ago I didn't want to remember the bad stuff because it made me feel guilty for continuing a relationship with Toilet and my Mom. On the other hand, I feel compelled to post the good stuff so that I feel like I have an "excuse" for letting the abuse go on and not saying anything -- as if to say "see, he wasn't totally an awful person.")
My mom worked odd shifts. She managed a convenience store. Toilet worked as a public transportation bus driver and then a long distance truck driver. Well, except that they both ran this lunch truck delivery service together for about 1-2 years. But in any event, they worked odd hours. My Sister and I were pretty much on our own. We cooked our own meals and took care of ourselves. If we wanted to go anywhere or do anything, we arranged it ourselves. Toilet was pretty good about offering rides places. He was also less strict on what we ate and would let us have the "forbidden" foods and drinks, like Pepsi.
On one occasion I started smoking. I was in middle school at the time. My friend, Sister and I would swipe half-smoked (or whole, when we could) cigarettes and go out in the woods and smoke them. My Mom, who smoked, caught us and decided to get creative with the punishment. She grounded me two weeks and required me to write a 2,000 word essay on smoking. I was a stubborn creature and refused, on principal grounds, to accept the punishment. I stayed in my room for two weeks. My mom informed me that I would continue to be grounded until I had written the essay. I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that unless she was there to babysit me, that I would do what I wanted and that I was not writing the essay. In effect, my mom was "grounded" too. She knew that as soon as she left the house, I would be off at a friends, watching TV or in the pool. She was miserable after 3 days. Toilet came downstairs with a magazine article and told me that he didn't agree with my mom punishing me. He begged me to copy the article and just write something so he could get her out of the house. He tried to intercede on my behalf. In the end, I wrote a "fictional" story about a hypocritical mom who punishes her child for smoking when the mom, herself, smoked too.
The Non-Touching Abuse
I don't remember the first time it happened. Neither my sister nor I can remember it happening in the apartment. But looking back, it just seemed such a way of life. In fact, Sister & I weren't so sure it wasn't "normal." We didn't realize that other families didn't live this way.
When Toilet moved in, Mom became very 'free-spirited.' I was allowed to read her Harlequin romance novels -- the ones she started reading all of a sudden. Dad was not happy and I learned not to bring those to his house. Mom let us listen to any music we wanted. Dad confiscated my Too Live Crew tape because it was too lewd and he didn't think the cover picture was appropraite. Mom let us watch cable TV and any show we wanted. Dad banned Night Court at his house because it was "obscene." Talk about a dichotomy split. It was no wonder these people separated.
Dad was very private. He was never so embarrassed as the time he had to talk to me about buying "feminine products." He would never think to walk out of the bathroom other than fully dressed. In fact, he did not consider it appropriate for Sister or I to walk from the bathroom across the hall to our bedroom, in a towel. At Dad's house, all phone conversations were from the hallway - no phone in our room. No boys were allowed in our bedroom at all. We had to be accountable for where we were and who we were with at all times. Dad was strict on what we ate. We had to have family meals and eat healthy foods. We were required to spend time as a family. For all his anger problems and drinking problems, Dad (in those years) was a pretty decent parent - at least on an alternating weekend basis.
Mom was different. She routinely left the bathroom door open at all times. Walked from her bedroom into her bathroom without clothes. Could not understand why I got so upset when Toilet would play games. Toilet liked to shut the hot water off when I was in the shower -- or just shut the main water valve off altogether. I had to get out of the shower, yell and scream, walk out in the hall in a towel and throw a fit. He thought it was funny. I did not. At mom's house, we had phones in our room and a TV that my sister and I took turns having in our bedroom. My bedroom was downstairs - the rest of the bedrooms were upstairs. I had to leave a note saying where I was, but otherwise did what I wanted. At Mom's house I told her what I was doing - never asked permission. We never ate family meals, and if we did, it was hamburger helper in front of the television. For years the kitchen table held junk or huge puzzles Mom was working on. We had extended cable and no shows or channels were banned. Mom and Toilet's collection of xxx videos were on the night stand in their bedroom in open sight.
Toilet encouraged my mom's openness. When Sister and I would object, he would berate us for being embarrased - it was "just a human body." He talked often about vacationing at a nudist colony. When they later bought property out of state in a rural area and talked about building, he said there would be no clothing requirement. For awhile we went hiking on weekends. One time I turned around to catch him taking pictures of my Mom flashing him. He called me a 'prude' for objecting. Mom said nothing.
On weekends, Mom and Toilet liked to go to the Farmers' Market - a nearby indoor/outdoor flea market. One time Sister and I agreed or were drug along with Toilet. He stopped by the magazine stand. Sister and I were down at one end looking at Teen Beat and Teen magazine. He called us over and wanted to know which porn magazine we thought Mom would like best. Then when we got home, he told us how embarrased he was. He showed us the full spread of the magazine. Apparently the title "men - something" was supposed to denote a magazine for men who prefer men --- not pictures of men for women. In other words, the magazine he thought he purchased for my mother was a magazine for homosexual men. I think Sister and I laughed - what else were we going to do. Again, Mom said nothing.
Toilet hated clothes. We had little money and often our air conditioning unit would break. Even when it did work, we couldn't afford to have it running too much. Toilet walked around in maroon shiny shorts with gold trim. The 70s style short shorts. Nothing else. Or else he wore a maroon bathrobe - the kind that just ties around your waist. Nothing else. To this day, I refuse to allow my husband to wear bathrobes, and hate to be in the presence of any male in a bathrobe, no matter what they are wearing underneath. I'm also not particularly fond of the color maroon on men.
I can't remember there ever being a first time - it seemed to always be happening. Toilet would sit cross-legged or one leg propped up on the couch or chair. He would hang out of his shorts or bathrobe. Other than the porno magazines and my baby cousin, I had never seen a naked man before. I found myself ashamed and curious at the same time. Compelled to look, yet disgusted. I confirmed with my Sister that I wasn't seeing things. My mom was in the same room when this would happen. Often we were all watching TV. Other times Toilet would walk out of the shower or bathroom with his bathrobe on, but hanging open and then say something like "oh sorry, didn't realize any one was around." Mom never said anything.
Once he determined that nothing would be said, Toilet progressed to fondling himself in the open. It was a non-stop, continuous thing. The comments started then too - inappropriate comments to my sister and I. Comments about things he and Mom did or things he saw. Comments about women on TV. Comments about me developing and that I was "built just like my mom." Mom and he started drinking more about this time too and most of the "family time" was spent downstairs in our basement rec room. There was a full bar down there, complete with beer keg. One day I was in my room reading one of Mom's harlequin romance novels. I ran across a word I had never seen before. Mom always encouraged us to read for context clues and, if that failed, to look the word up in the dictionary. It wasn't in there. So I went out and asked my mom what it meant. I didn't say it correctly. Toilet finally figured out I was asking what "masturbate" meant. He laughed hysterically and gave me a crude and detailed definition. I was so red with embarrassment. But at least now I had a name for what he was doing.
In Part Four, I'm going to have to get into the actual touching part, and I'm wanting to put that off a bit. In addition I realized that there are a few things I left off. And the non-touching abuse was just as bad and continued far longer, so it definitely warrants attention. So here is Part Three.
Apartment (cont.).
We lived in the apartment for one year. During that year I started my period for the first time. I had horrible cramps - bad enough to keep me curled up on the couch for days. Mom had always had vicious cycles so she told me it was "normal" and offered ibuprofen with a tiny bit of sympathy. One day I was having a particularly rough time and lying on the couch with a hot heating pad, kind of rubbing my lower abdominal area. Toilet came over and started rubbing it for me.
It made me feel uncomfortable but I didn't say anything. (see this Post for more on this)
Sometime that year, my sister mentioned something disturbing to me. She had left to get on the school bus, but realized she had forgotten something in the apartment. She went back and used her key to get in. Apparently Toilet had woken up and was walking around the apartment naked. Now he and Mom's room/bathroom were at the opposite end of the house than anything else. So no cause for him to be in that end of the house without clothing. Sister said he made some excuse and she just dismissed it. Although she did mention it to me.
At the end of 6th grade we moved into a house and switched schools again. It was okay with me - I hated that school anyway and didn't have any friends there.
This is where my time line gets really fuzzy. I hate not being able to narrow down a particular date or event or time.
In any event, sometime after we moved, life became crazy. My Dad had moved too. He found a girlfriend and she moved in with him. They had a house nearby and Sister and I visited alternating weekends. Dad's house was in our old school district and so we had friends over there too.
Toilet as the Protector
I ~think~ (best as I can recall) that this happened before the touching. Dad was still drinking quite a bit. I had a friend stay the night at his house.
(deleting rambling paragraphs wherein I try to sort out timetable because it drives me absolutely bonkers that I can't figure out when things happened or whether one event happened before or after another - drives me to a panic attack).
Dad was drinking and drove Sister, friend and I home. Dropped friend off. Then took Sister and I home. Somehow Mom and Toilet knew. They came outside and a fight ensued. I don't remember details. But Toilet hit Dad's car with a baseball bat. He was protecting Sister and I. He made me feel safe. It was amazing to have someone stand up for me. This incident stood out in my mind later when I was forced to choose between Dad the drunk, violent one and Toilet the evil sex monster.
Toilet - the Good Side
(wondering why I find myself compelled to put the good stuff first. I know some of it didn't happen chronologically here. A long time ago I didn't want to remember the bad stuff because it made me feel guilty for continuing a relationship with Toilet and my Mom. On the other hand, I feel compelled to post the good stuff so that I feel like I have an "excuse" for letting the abuse go on and not saying anything -- as if to say "see, he wasn't totally an awful person.")
My mom worked odd shifts. She managed a convenience store. Toilet worked as a public transportation bus driver and then a long distance truck driver. Well, except that they both ran this lunch truck delivery service together for about 1-2 years. But in any event, they worked odd hours. My Sister and I were pretty much on our own. We cooked our own meals and took care of ourselves. If we wanted to go anywhere or do anything, we arranged it ourselves. Toilet was pretty good about offering rides places. He was also less strict on what we ate and would let us have the "forbidden" foods and drinks, like Pepsi.
On one occasion I started smoking. I was in middle school at the time. My friend, Sister and I would swipe half-smoked (or whole, when we could) cigarettes and go out in the woods and smoke them. My Mom, who smoked, caught us and decided to get creative with the punishment. She grounded me two weeks and required me to write a 2,000 word essay on smoking. I was a stubborn creature and refused, on principal grounds, to accept the punishment. I stayed in my room for two weeks. My mom informed me that I would continue to be grounded until I had written the essay. I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that unless she was there to babysit me, that I would do what I wanted and that I was not writing the essay. In effect, my mom was "grounded" too. She knew that as soon as she left the house, I would be off at a friends, watching TV or in the pool. She was miserable after 3 days. Toilet came downstairs with a magazine article and told me that he didn't agree with my mom punishing me. He begged me to copy the article and just write something so he could get her out of the house. He tried to intercede on my behalf. In the end, I wrote a "fictional" story about a hypocritical mom who punishes her child for smoking when the mom, herself, smoked too.
The Non-Touching Abuse
I don't remember the first time it happened. Neither my sister nor I can remember it happening in the apartment. But looking back, it just seemed such a way of life. In fact, Sister & I weren't so sure it wasn't "normal." We didn't realize that other families didn't live this way.
When Toilet moved in, Mom became very 'free-spirited.' I was allowed to read her Harlequin romance novels -- the ones she started reading all of a sudden. Dad was not happy and I learned not to bring those to his house. Mom let us listen to any music we wanted. Dad confiscated my Too Live Crew tape because it was too lewd and he didn't think the cover picture was appropraite. Mom let us watch cable TV and any show we wanted. Dad banned Night Court at his house because it was "obscene." Talk about a dichotomy split. It was no wonder these people separated.
Dad was very private. He was never so embarrassed as the time he had to talk to me about buying "feminine products." He would never think to walk out of the bathroom other than fully dressed. In fact, he did not consider it appropriate for Sister or I to walk from the bathroom across the hall to our bedroom, in a towel. At Dad's house, all phone conversations were from the hallway - no phone in our room. No boys were allowed in our bedroom at all. We had to be accountable for where we were and who we were with at all times. Dad was strict on what we ate. We had to have family meals and eat healthy foods. We were required to spend time as a family. For all his anger problems and drinking problems, Dad (in those years) was a pretty decent parent - at least on an alternating weekend basis.
Mom was different. She routinely left the bathroom door open at all times. Walked from her bedroom into her bathroom without clothes. Could not understand why I got so upset when Toilet would play games. Toilet liked to shut the hot water off when I was in the shower -- or just shut the main water valve off altogether. I had to get out of the shower, yell and scream, walk out in the hall in a towel and throw a fit. He thought it was funny. I did not. At mom's house, we had phones in our room and a TV that my sister and I took turns having in our bedroom. My bedroom was downstairs - the rest of the bedrooms were upstairs. I had to leave a note saying where I was, but otherwise did what I wanted. At Mom's house I told her what I was doing - never asked permission. We never ate family meals, and if we did, it was hamburger helper in front of the television. For years the kitchen table held junk or huge puzzles Mom was working on. We had extended cable and no shows or channels were banned. Mom and Toilet's collection of xxx videos were on the night stand in their bedroom in open sight.
Toilet encouraged my mom's openness. When Sister and I would object, he would berate us for being embarrased - it was "just a human body." He talked often about vacationing at a nudist colony. When they later bought property out of state in a rural area and talked about building, he said there would be no clothing requirement. For awhile we went hiking on weekends. One time I turned around to catch him taking pictures of my Mom flashing him. He called me a 'prude' for objecting. Mom said nothing.
On weekends, Mom and Toilet liked to go to the Farmers' Market - a nearby indoor/outdoor flea market. One time Sister and I agreed or were drug along with Toilet. He stopped by the magazine stand. Sister and I were down at one end looking at Teen Beat and Teen magazine. He called us over and wanted to know which porn magazine we thought Mom would like best. Then when we got home, he told us how embarrased he was. He showed us the full spread of the magazine. Apparently the title "men - something" was supposed to denote a magazine for men who prefer men --- not pictures of men for women. In other words, the magazine he thought he purchased for my mother was a magazine for homosexual men. I think Sister and I laughed - what else were we going to do. Again, Mom said nothing.
Toilet hated clothes. We had little money and often our air conditioning unit would break. Even when it did work, we couldn't afford to have it running too much. Toilet walked around in maroon shiny shorts with gold trim. The 70s style short shorts. Nothing else. Or else he wore a maroon bathrobe - the kind that just ties around your waist. Nothing else. To this day, I refuse to allow my husband to wear bathrobes, and hate to be in the presence of any male in a bathrobe, no matter what they are wearing underneath. I'm also not particularly fond of the color maroon on men.
I can't remember there ever being a first time - it seemed to always be happening. Toilet would sit cross-legged or one leg propped up on the couch or chair. He would hang out of his shorts or bathrobe. Other than the porno magazines and my baby cousin, I had never seen a naked man before. I found myself ashamed and curious at the same time. Compelled to look, yet disgusted. I confirmed with my Sister that I wasn't seeing things. My mom was in the same room when this would happen. Often we were all watching TV. Other times Toilet would walk out of the shower or bathroom with his bathrobe on, but hanging open and then say something like "oh sorry, didn't realize any one was around." Mom never said anything.
Once he determined that nothing would be said, Toilet progressed to fondling himself in the open. It was a non-stop, continuous thing. The comments started then too - inappropriate comments to my sister and I. Comments about things he and Mom did or things he saw. Comments about women on TV. Comments about me developing and that I was "built just like my mom." Mom and he started drinking more about this time too and most of the "family time" was spent downstairs in our basement rec room. There was a full bar down there, complete with beer keg. One day I was in my room reading one of Mom's harlequin romance novels. I ran across a word I had never seen before. Mom always encouraged us to read for context clues and, if that failed, to look the word up in the dictionary. It wasn't in there. So I went out and asked my mom what it meant. I didn't say it correctly. Toilet finally figured out I was asking what "masturbate" meant. He laughed hysterically and gave me a crude and detailed definition. I was so red with embarrassment. But at least now I had a name for what he was doing.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Sometimes Protection Requires Rejection
On my "After Silence" board last night, we had a topic chat. A guest speaker came into the chat room and talked with a group of us. The speaker was Dr. Patti Feuereisen, author of "Invisible Girls - the Truth about Sexual Abuse" She talked about the topic of Mother's Rejection. (Her book is sold at Barnes & Noble and on amazon.com and her website is Girl Thrive. It was an extremely interesting conversation.
The statement of Dr. Patti's that I most identified with was this - "Rejecting a relationship that is not healthy is a good lesson to teach your children. Sometimes protecting a child means rejecting a parent."
I've struggled awhile with the relationship between myself and my mother, as well as the relationship I allow my mother to have with my daughter. The contact is limited and there are rules. Mom is not to mention her husband. She comes here to visit - I do not go to her house. Mom is not left alone with my daughter either. After all a mother who thinks "sexual touching is no big deal" isn't to be trusted with my little girl.
That statement hit me on two different levels. First, my mother never taught me that lesson. She rejected the relationship with my father because he was physically abusive. That was a good lesson to teach me. She protected my sister and I by leaving my father. Although she still let him have extensive contact with my sister and I. And I never remember her talking about domestic violence or telling me that it was not to be tolerated. Never remember her warning me not to let a boyfriend or any man physically assault me. I really think Mom's leaving my father was more about stopping the abuse toward her, rather than an incident she remembers (I do not) wherein she says my dad went way overboard in disciplining me and threw me up against a wall. I'm not saying that she should have tolerated abuse of any kind - I just think that her trying to say leaving Dad was for my benefit is a crock. It was really about her. Besides, it is evident she was dating her boyfriend (future husband AKA Toilet) before the separation.
On another level, that statement strikes me too. It makes me wonder if continuing a relationship with my mom is going to be detrimental to my child -- if it is going to send mixed signals. My relationship with mom is definitely not normal, and I'm pretty sure it's not all that healthy. I wonder if rejecting a relationship with Mom is protecting my daughter - teaching her that she needs to value herself above family "duty and obligation."
I honestly can not say that I love my mother. I love the "Idea" of having a mother. On good days I've accepted that my mother will never be a real mother. On bad days I cry for that loss. I continue to see my mother out of obligation. And out of some deranged idea and glimmer of hope that she might, someday, morph into a halfway decent human being. I don't want my daughter thinking that is a good idea. I don't want my daughter maintaining relationships solely out of some misguided sense of family duty and obligation.
I stayed with my mother and at her house partly to protect my sister and partly because I felt responsible for my mother (and partly because I had nowhere else - I thought - to go). Now, I am trying to decide if I should change my way of thinking and terminate all contact with her. I can't imagine explaining to my daughter WHY I still have contact with my mom. There really isn't a good reason.
The statement of Dr. Patti's that I most identified with was this - "Rejecting a relationship that is not healthy is a good lesson to teach your children. Sometimes protecting a child means rejecting a parent."
I've struggled awhile with the relationship between myself and my mother, as well as the relationship I allow my mother to have with my daughter. The contact is limited and there are rules. Mom is not to mention her husband. She comes here to visit - I do not go to her house. Mom is not left alone with my daughter either. After all a mother who thinks "sexual touching is no big deal" isn't to be trusted with my little girl.
That statement hit me on two different levels. First, my mother never taught me that lesson. She rejected the relationship with my father because he was physically abusive. That was a good lesson to teach me. She protected my sister and I by leaving my father. Although she still let him have extensive contact with my sister and I. And I never remember her talking about domestic violence or telling me that it was not to be tolerated. Never remember her warning me not to let a boyfriend or any man physically assault me. I really think Mom's leaving my father was more about stopping the abuse toward her, rather than an incident she remembers (I do not) wherein she says my dad went way overboard in disciplining me and threw me up against a wall. I'm not saying that she should have tolerated abuse of any kind - I just think that her trying to say leaving Dad was for my benefit is a crock. It was really about her. Besides, it is evident she was dating her boyfriend (future husband AKA Toilet) before the separation.
On another level, that statement strikes me too. It makes me wonder if continuing a relationship with my mom is going to be detrimental to my child -- if it is going to send mixed signals. My relationship with mom is definitely not normal, and I'm pretty sure it's not all that healthy. I wonder if rejecting a relationship with Mom is protecting my daughter - teaching her that she needs to value herself above family "duty and obligation."
I honestly can not say that I love my mother. I love the "Idea" of having a mother. On good days I've accepted that my mother will never be a real mother. On bad days I cry for that loss. I continue to see my mother out of obligation. And out of some deranged idea and glimmer of hope that she might, someday, morph into a halfway decent human being. I don't want my daughter thinking that is a good idea. I don't want my daughter maintaining relationships solely out of some misguided sense of family duty and obligation.
I stayed with my mother and at her house partly to protect my sister and partly because I felt responsible for my mother (and partly because I had nowhere else - I thought - to go). Now, I am trying to decide if I should change my way of thinking and terminate all contact with her. I can't imagine explaining to my daughter WHY I still have contact with my mom. There really isn't a good reason.
I cut off all ties with my abuser because I could not imagine explaining to my daughter why I had any contact with him (nor the thought of him touching my daughter at all). Why should my mother be any different? Why possible benefit will my daughter gain from a relationship with a woman who stood by the very man who molested her own daughters? Really I do it because of a sense of obligation and guilt --- and I do not want my daughter learning that lesson.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Why Harm the Skin
Check out this blog article at Imaginif's Blog I've copied the last two paragraphs here -
Survivors of childhood abuse (both physical and sexual abuse) hide their emotional, physical and spiritual pain within the layers of their skin. Layer after layer the skin conceals feelings of shame, guilt, mistrust, worthlessness and low self-esteem. These feelings can manifest into self-harm, psychiatric disorders, relationship failure, crime, youth suicide, homelessness, alcohol and drug usage, prostitution and domestic violence. Self-harm often being the optimum choice for survivors of childhood sexual and physical abuse. The process of ‘cutting’ the skin offers the individual the opportunity to display and demonstrate the internal messages and emotional pain that they are experiencing to the outside world.
When we speak of childhood abuse (both physical and sexual), we know that body boundaries have been crossed, emotions have been altered and voices have been silenced. The child can no longer control their own body and what little power they had prior to the abuse has been taken away. When power, control and an emotional voice have been taken away from the individual, ‘cutting’ (self-harm) the skin provides the child and/or adult the power to control the release of their own pain whether that be emotional or spiritual pain. Finally, ‘cutting’ the skin gives survivors of childhood abuse a voice.
I found that bolded part so true. I started SI because I felt numb and needed to feel something. But then it turned into SI-ing because I was feeling too much. Too much panic or too much anxiety or too much pain. Cutting is my way of talking. Of crying out for help and "talking" about the pain. It's about ME controlling how the emotion is addressed. Instead of bottling it all up inside or having someone else choose for me.
However, there is a Catch-22 there. Because while I say SI-ing is a way of communicating and asking for help with the pain, it is a secret cry. Because I don't let anyone know I do it. No one sees it (except rarely). And I don't talk about it unless I have too.
I'm working on having more of an actual voice. An out loud voice and talking to people - as opposed to SI. It's a hard habit to break. After years of being told "don't talk about it," "Forget about it," "get over it already," and "why are you bringing that up again," I'm conditioned to stay silent.
Survivors of childhood abuse (both physical and sexual abuse) hide their emotional, physical and spiritual pain within the layers of their skin. Layer after layer the skin conceals feelings of shame, guilt, mistrust, worthlessness and low self-esteem. These feelings can manifest into self-harm, psychiatric disorders, relationship failure, crime, youth suicide, homelessness, alcohol and drug usage, prostitution and domestic violence. Self-harm often being the optimum choice for survivors of childhood sexual and physical abuse. The process of ‘cutting’ the skin offers the individual the opportunity to display and demonstrate the internal messages and emotional pain that they are experiencing to the outside world.
When we speak of childhood abuse (both physical and sexual), we know that body boundaries have been crossed, emotions have been altered and voices have been silenced. The child can no longer control their own body and what little power they had prior to the abuse has been taken away. When power, control and an emotional voice have been taken away from the individual, ‘cutting’ (self-harm) the skin provides the child and/or adult the power to control the release of their own pain whether that be emotional or spiritual pain. Finally, ‘cutting’ the skin gives survivors of childhood abuse a voice.
I found that bolded part so true. I started SI because I felt numb and needed to feel something. But then it turned into SI-ing because I was feeling too much. Too much panic or too much anxiety or too much pain. Cutting is my way of talking. Of crying out for help and "talking" about the pain. It's about ME controlling how the emotion is addressed. Instead of bottling it all up inside or having someone else choose for me.
However, there is a Catch-22 there. Because while I say SI-ing is a way of communicating and asking for help with the pain, it is a secret cry. Because I don't let anyone know I do it. No one sees it (except rarely). And I don't talk about it unless I have too.
I'm working on having more of an actual voice. An out loud voice and talking to people - as opposed to SI. It's a hard habit to break. After years of being told "don't talk about it," "Forget about it," "get over it already," and "why are you bringing that up again," I'm conditioned to stay silent.
Monday, May 21, 2007
My Story - Setting the Stage (part 2)
For part 1 - see my 5/8/07 post here http://enola-survivor.blogspot.com/2007/05/my-story-background-part-1.html-
The Apartment
When I left off we were living in the apartment. It was the middle of the summer and I was going to start 6th grade soon. My Sister and I visited with Dad Tuesday and Thursday evenings and alternating weekends. It was a lot of back and forth. Mom was working full-time and Toilet worked odd hours driving a public transportation bus. So Sister and I were home alone a lot. To explore our new neighborhood.
I started school and hated it. I had gone to school with people I knew my entire life and now I was in a new place. We were in a townhome/apartment in a decent section of town. However, it seemed like everyone else had more money than my family. I didn't wear the right clothes, shop at the right places or anything. I developed faster than most girls. The guys stared at my chest and laughed. The girls ignored me. In every class, there are those 4-5 kids who are the outcasts. The ones who band all together and hang out only because no one else with join them. I was one of "those kids" in 6th grade. I had horrible, terrible acne. I was picked on terribly for that. Mom decided a new hairstyle would be good so she permed my hair. I looked like Little orphan annie - not a flattering style. To top it all off, I required glasses that year. Talk about nerd.
My Dad started dating on occasion. He also joined a camping organization for single parents. We would camp 1 weekend a month April - October. It was pretty cool and I met a lot of great friends. It also allowed for a lot of freedom. Dad pretty much sat by the campfire and drank himself into oblivion. Sister and I had free rein to do as we pleased. All the kids there were products of broken homes and divorced parents. So we commiserated together. Dad would alternate between going hours without caring where we were or what we were doing, and hounding us to "keep in touch" and "check in." We never could tell what was expected. Soon I learned to ask to sleep at my friend's campfire. Three of us girls would sleep on lawn chairs around the fire at her site. Once her mom fell asleep, as evidenced by the LOUD snoring, we would sneak off and explore. We'd meet up with some of the guys and just giggle. That was back when I wasn't too sure what guys were all about and they were still a big mystery.
I knew where babies come from. Mom had read me that book. In 6th grade you also get the "what is happening to your body" lecture. Mom had told me the basics too. But no one explained what really happens - the emotional side. The hormonal feelings that go along with it. I could go from happy to weeping in mere minutes. Mom and I alternated between best friends and worst enemies. She used me as a sounding board and a go-between for her and my Dad. Dad was really upset that Mom moved in with Toilet and he was angry and always complaining about that too. So all Sister and I heard were negative things about the other parent.
It was weird having this "stranger" live with us. And sleep in my mother's room. It presented all sorts of conflicts. I felt weird walking around in my pajamas anymore. My dad was...well my dad and it was okay with him. But Toilet - he wasn't my dad. Getting up and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night posed problems - did I have to put on shorts, or could I go in just my long Tshirt and underwear?
Things were awkward with Mom too. I have a distinct memory of wanting to shave my legs. I begged and she finally relented - but only after I tried it myself first. Note - never "push" the razor down your bare, dry leg. Ouch. So mom told me to draw bathwater and she would show me. She was beet red and so embarrassed which made me embarrassed. So she showed me how to shave with soap and water. We never did get to use shaving cream in our house - or good razors either. That was wasteful. I remember sitting in the tub - bareazzed naked and mom beet red and asking her, "Ah how far do you shave up?" and her stuttering response about "some men liking women to shave higher than others." What the heck? I wasn't shaving my legs for some "man" - I was doing it for me.
Toilet slowly began exerting his authority. There was a dishwasher in the apartment but we had to wash dishes by hand. That continued on until we moved. If one dish was dirty, we had to re-wash the entire load. He had this "thing" about washing dishes. I didn't so much mind washing dishes - we had always been taught to do chores and help out. I just hated him standing over us, gleefully waiting for us to make a mistake. He got so much enjoyment out of tormenting us and swiping his hand across the counter and raking the entire stack back in the sink. He would laugh - cackle really. This evil sound. Even the thought of it sends shivers down my spine. Mom just said nothing.
At first Dad told us that Toilet was not to discipline us and that we did not have to listen to him. Later, Dad told us that Toilet was an adult and we had to treat him with respect - as we did with all adults. I'm not sure when the conversations took place exactly, but I remember it being confusing.
Toilet alternated between wanting to be your best friend and wanting to be The Authority Figure. With the dishes, he was Authority. When it came to giving out gum or treats, he was Friend. Sister and I battled with him lots. When he would try to tell us what to do, we'd yell at him. I remember Dad telling us that in the property division, Mom got to keep the TV and VCR because she had us. So Sister and I thought they were ours. When we'd get mad at Toilet, we'd tell him that he couldn't watch them - they were ours. Then he'd say, well you can't watch them either because I pay the electric bill. You'd have thought we were all 5 year olds the way we fought. Mom did nothing.
Mom changed a whole lot after the divorce. She had been somewhat conservative, listened to "oldies" music and didn't curse that I heard. When Toilet moved in, she started listening to all country music, wearing tank tops and short shorts, and cursing. Toilet cursed up a storm. Sister and I picked up on it and nothing was said - as long as we didn't curse at them, we could pretty much say what we wanted.
Mom has always been very large chested. When I developed so early, I was terrified I'd grow as big as her. Toilet made comments to her all the time. Mom always called them "boobs." He called them "titties" Yuck. Mom dressed more skimpily now and I was so embarrassed to have her around my friends. Course I didn't have many, so it worked out okay.
In the apartment, I started becoming the "little mom." Mom was working all the time and I had to do more. Get lunches packed. Get self up in morning. Get Sister a snack and watch her after school. For the first time, Mom didn't check my homework or sit down with me while I worked on it. She never asked if I had any either. I remember forgetting about a school poetry project and staying up all night working on it. Mom went to bed.
It seemed as though Mom became a whole new person. I wasn't sure who she was anymore. One day, Toilet and Mom went out. Sister and I decided to go through Mom's dresser. I have no idea why. We found pornographic magazines that we went through. I had never, to my knowledge anyway, seen a totally naked grown man. Sister and I were dumbfounded. We also found toys. A...ah..."battery operated boyfriend". It was very real looking. I wasn't sure it wasn't real - but I couldn't figure out how that was possible. I was shocked. I couldn't figure why on earth anyone would have one of those or what on earth you would do with it. Anyway, we thought we put everything back. But later after they came home, there were raised voices from their room. Mom yelled at me for going through her stuff. Apparently we had left the drawer somewhat open. Mom said absolutely nothing about what had been in the drawer. Or maybe she asked what I saw and I said, "nothing." (one of those fuzzy memory moments). Toilet caught me in the hall and snidely said, "Did you learn anything" with that leering (GAG) grin. I decided to be a smartazz and remarked, "yeah, I didn't know men had hair between their legs, like girls." He totally shut up and just smiled. That smile haunts me. I think that was the turning point. The point at which he began to look at me differently. The point at which I became something "not so innocent" in his eyes. I've always wondered what would have happened if I hadn't made such a smart-alec remark. A remark he liked.........
The Apartment
When I left off we were living in the apartment. It was the middle of the summer and I was going to start 6th grade soon. My Sister and I visited with Dad Tuesday and Thursday evenings and alternating weekends. It was a lot of back and forth. Mom was working full-time and Toilet worked odd hours driving a public transportation bus. So Sister and I were home alone a lot. To explore our new neighborhood.
I started school and hated it. I had gone to school with people I knew my entire life and now I was in a new place. We were in a townhome/apartment in a decent section of town. However, it seemed like everyone else had more money than my family. I didn't wear the right clothes, shop at the right places or anything. I developed faster than most girls. The guys stared at my chest and laughed. The girls ignored me. In every class, there are those 4-5 kids who are the outcasts. The ones who band all together and hang out only because no one else with join them. I was one of "those kids" in 6th grade. I had horrible, terrible acne. I was picked on terribly for that. Mom decided a new hairstyle would be good so she permed my hair. I looked like Little orphan annie - not a flattering style. To top it all off, I required glasses that year. Talk about nerd.
My Dad started dating on occasion. He also joined a camping organization for single parents. We would camp 1 weekend a month April - October. It was pretty cool and I met a lot of great friends. It also allowed for a lot of freedom. Dad pretty much sat by the campfire and drank himself into oblivion. Sister and I had free rein to do as we pleased. All the kids there were products of broken homes and divorced parents. So we commiserated together. Dad would alternate between going hours without caring where we were or what we were doing, and hounding us to "keep in touch" and "check in." We never could tell what was expected. Soon I learned to ask to sleep at my friend's campfire. Three of us girls would sleep on lawn chairs around the fire at her site. Once her mom fell asleep, as evidenced by the LOUD snoring, we would sneak off and explore. We'd meet up with some of the guys and just giggle. That was back when I wasn't too sure what guys were all about and they were still a big mystery.
I knew where babies come from. Mom had read me that book. In 6th grade you also get the "what is happening to your body" lecture. Mom had told me the basics too. But no one explained what really happens - the emotional side. The hormonal feelings that go along with it. I could go from happy to weeping in mere minutes. Mom and I alternated between best friends and worst enemies. She used me as a sounding board and a go-between for her and my Dad. Dad was really upset that Mom moved in with Toilet and he was angry and always complaining about that too. So all Sister and I heard were negative things about the other parent.
It was weird having this "stranger" live with us. And sleep in my mother's room. It presented all sorts of conflicts. I felt weird walking around in my pajamas anymore. My dad was...well my dad and it was okay with him. But Toilet - he wasn't my dad. Getting up and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night posed problems - did I have to put on shorts, or could I go in just my long Tshirt and underwear?
Things were awkward with Mom too. I have a distinct memory of wanting to shave my legs. I begged and she finally relented - but only after I tried it myself first. Note - never "push" the razor down your bare, dry leg. Ouch. So mom told me to draw bathwater and she would show me. She was beet red and so embarrassed which made me embarrassed. So she showed me how to shave with soap and water. We never did get to use shaving cream in our house - or good razors either. That was wasteful. I remember sitting in the tub - bareazzed naked and mom beet red and asking her, "Ah how far do you shave up?" and her stuttering response about "some men liking women to shave higher than others." What the heck? I wasn't shaving my legs for some "man" - I was doing it for me.
Toilet slowly began exerting his authority. There was a dishwasher in the apartment but we had to wash dishes by hand. That continued on until we moved. If one dish was dirty, we had to re-wash the entire load. He had this "thing" about washing dishes. I didn't so much mind washing dishes - we had always been taught to do chores and help out. I just hated him standing over us, gleefully waiting for us to make a mistake. He got so much enjoyment out of tormenting us and swiping his hand across the counter and raking the entire stack back in the sink. He would laugh - cackle really. This evil sound. Even the thought of it sends shivers down my spine. Mom just said nothing.
At first Dad told us that Toilet was not to discipline us and that we did not have to listen to him. Later, Dad told us that Toilet was an adult and we had to treat him with respect - as we did with all adults. I'm not sure when the conversations took place exactly, but I remember it being confusing.
Toilet alternated between wanting to be your best friend and wanting to be The Authority Figure. With the dishes, he was Authority. When it came to giving out gum or treats, he was Friend. Sister and I battled with him lots. When he would try to tell us what to do, we'd yell at him. I remember Dad telling us that in the property division, Mom got to keep the TV and VCR because she had us. So Sister and I thought they were ours. When we'd get mad at Toilet, we'd tell him that he couldn't watch them - they were ours. Then he'd say, well you can't watch them either because I pay the electric bill. You'd have thought we were all 5 year olds the way we fought. Mom did nothing.
Mom changed a whole lot after the divorce. She had been somewhat conservative, listened to "oldies" music and didn't curse that I heard. When Toilet moved in, she started listening to all country music, wearing tank tops and short shorts, and cursing. Toilet cursed up a storm. Sister and I picked up on it and nothing was said - as long as we didn't curse at them, we could pretty much say what we wanted.
Mom has always been very large chested. When I developed so early, I was terrified I'd grow as big as her. Toilet made comments to her all the time. Mom always called them "boobs." He called them "titties" Yuck. Mom dressed more skimpily now and I was so embarrassed to have her around my friends. Course I didn't have many, so it worked out okay.
In the apartment, I started becoming the "little mom." Mom was working all the time and I had to do more. Get lunches packed. Get self up in morning. Get Sister a snack and watch her after school. For the first time, Mom didn't check my homework or sit down with me while I worked on it. She never asked if I had any either. I remember forgetting about a school poetry project and staying up all night working on it. Mom went to bed.
It seemed as though Mom became a whole new person. I wasn't sure who she was anymore. One day, Toilet and Mom went out. Sister and I decided to go through Mom's dresser. I have no idea why. We found pornographic magazines that we went through. I had never, to my knowledge anyway, seen a totally naked grown man. Sister and I were dumbfounded. We also found toys. A...ah..."battery operated boyfriend". It was very real looking. I wasn't sure it wasn't real - but I couldn't figure out how that was possible. I was shocked. I couldn't figure why on earth anyone would have one of those or what on earth you would do with it. Anyway, we thought we put everything back. But later after they came home, there were raised voices from their room. Mom yelled at me for going through her stuff. Apparently we had left the drawer somewhat open. Mom said absolutely nothing about what had been in the drawer. Or maybe she asked what I saw and I said, "nothing." (one of those fuzzy memory moments). Toilet caught me in the hall and snidely said, "Did you learn anything" with that leering (GAG) grin. I decided to be a smartazz and remarked, "yeah, I didn't know men had hair between their legs, like girls." He totally shut up and just smiled. That smile haunts me. I think that was the turning point. The point at which he began to look at me differently. The point at which I became something "not so innocent" in his eyes. I've always wondered what would have happened if I hadn't made such a smart-alec remark. A remark he liked.........
Heavenly - my new assistant
How do you spell "heaven"? It's called "new assistant." She started today. I'm amazed. Until 3:30 pm, I wasn't quite sure she was human. Not only did she start her first day at 8 am, do all of her human resources type paperwork, and learn our computer system -- she typed too. All my correspondence. And started on some pleadings. Darn. That girl is FAST. She did make her first mistake (used "her" instead of "him" in a document) at 3:30. Whew! I was worried she was bionic or something.
So, you may not see me around here as much. I'm going to have to pick up the pace in order to keep her busy. I might actually be able to bring in some more money this year. After all, if I'm not doing my own typing and answering my own phones, I can take on more work.
This whole "delegation" idea is pretty cool.
So, you may not see me around here as much. I'm going to have to pick up the pace in order to keep her busy. I might actually be able to bring in some more money this year. After all, if I'm not doing my own typing and answering my own phones, I can take on more work.
This whole "delegation" idea is pretty cool.
Technical help needed - Blog etiquette
I thought this deserved its own thread. I have a few questions and am hoping some faithful (or passerbys) can help. What is proper etiquette with blogging?
- If I link to someone's blog, do I have to ask first or even let them know?
- What if I add someone's blog to my "Frequently visited blogs" link?
- How do I make the pretty names come up? For instance when I add a link in my blog, it comes out like this http://myattemptatatdidn.fhoghaog.bho.com instead of My Attempt at Adding Link - in other words, the link pops up instead of the name.
Help please!
- If I link to someone's blog, do I have to ask first or even let them know?
- What if I add someone's blog to my "Frequently visited blogs" link?
- How do I make the pretty names come up? For instance when I add a link in my blog, it comes out like this http://myattemptatatdidn.fhoghaog.bho.com instead of My Attempt at Adding Link - in other words, the link pops up instead of the name.
Help please!
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Look at All the Pretty Pills
If you enter my bathroom and look on my shelf (ignore the mess), you'll find a weekly pill sorter. Open it up and you'll see all sorts of pretty colored pills. There are the pink multi-vitamins, white lexapro, white zyrtec, cream herbal supplement, green trileptal, and brown vitamin. There are more than one of some colors. With my jaw stuff, there have been additional pills, like my yellow penicillin and white pain pills. Then also, the blue and white liquids I gargle with. During certain times of the month, you throw in some dark red iron pills and and auburn ibuprofen. then there are the (not so) occasional pink xanax and tan melatonin. All in all, you have a pill colored rainbow.
I have lots of pills for chilling out. Need to chill? Take a chill pill - literally, in my case. Today, it seemed like I was popping pills all the time. Perhaps because I was. Woke up and took my usual 4. Then got cramps so added in 3-4 ibuprofen. Then got a bit anxious about 7 pm so add in a green one. Come home and finish with my nightly ones. Few more ibuprofen. And because I can't sleep without a little help, how about another one.
For someone who used to be so against taking any kind of medicine.....well, I'm sure taking an awful lot of it. Part of me likes being able to just take a pill to solve my sleep, pain, anxiety. Part of me hates being dependent on meds. Part of me likes to see all the pretty bottles lined up in a row and just chug them all at once. Part of me wants to knock all those bottles over and throw every pill away.
Between the extremes is coping. Taking what I need when I need it. Trying to do what I can, when I can, to limit relying on the pills entirely. But acceping their help when necessary. I don't usually do so well with coping. But I'm trying.
I have lots of pills for chilling out. Need to chill? Take a chill pill - literally, in my case. Today, it seemed like I was popping pills all the time. Perhaps because I was. Woke up and took my usual 4. Then got cramps so added in 3-4 ibuprofen. Then got a bit anxious about 7 pm so add in a green one. Come home and finish with my nightly ones. Few more ibuprofen. And because I can't sleep without a little help, how about another one.
For someone who used to be so against taking any kind of medicine.....well, I'm sure taking an awful lot of it. Part of me likes being able to just take a pill to solve my sleep, pain, anxiety. Part of me hates being dependent on meds. Part of me likes to see all the pretty bottles lined up in a row and just chug them all at once. Part of me wants to knock all those bottles over and throw every pill away.
Between the extremes is coping. Taking what I need when I need it. Trying to do what I can, when I can, to limit relying on the pills entirely. But acceping their help when necessary. I don't usually do so well with coping. But I'm trying.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Carnival Against Child Abuse - May Day
http://osiris.instanthosting.com.au/~ima33724/blog/?p=48
The May Carnival Against Child Abuse is up and it warrants a visit. Great submissions this month.
This submission especially http://journeyingforward.blogspot.com/2007/05/lies-ive-believed-about-my-sexual-abuse.html struck a chord within me.
The May Carnival Against Child Abuse is up and it warrants a visit. Great submissions this month.
This submission especially http://journeyingforward.blogspot.com/2007/05/lies-ive-believed-about-my-sexual-abuse.html struck a chord within me.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Triggers come in 3s too
My mom is still married to my abuser. I never visit her house. I rarely call her and only when I know she is at home. We do IM sometimes. We do email. Her computer is a family computer. I don't know how much her husband (I call him "Toilet") uses it. But I'm sure he does on occasion.
Earlier I tried to email my mom a video clip of my adorable 3 year old daughter's dance recital rehearsal (trying to be the good daughter here). It wouldn't go through - too big. Mom and I IM-ed a bit and I said I'd send pictures later. Well, just a few moments ago, I saw she was on IM. So I emailed the pics and then IM-ed her to say "go look at them." I wanted to hear her gushy comments about how cute my daughter was (about the only decent comments I hear from her).
I had looked at the time. I knew it was 1:30 pm. I knew she left for work at 1 pm. I just thought maybe she was going in late. The IMs were returned as "undeliverable" and she "signed off" ASAP.
I know what that means. I know it was Toilet on IM. My sister and I will sometimes IM mom and get that message. We both know that means he is the one on the computer. Because my mom would never resist a chance to IM (she gets such few since we mostly avoid her). Sometimes we'll call and he'll answer. I just say "let me talk to Mom" My sister hangs up on him and my mom knows to call my sister back.
I know better than to have sent that IM. The thought of that ...thing....going and looking at pictures of my daughter makes me want to throw up. I am very selective of what I send. No naked baby pictures. This was my daughter in her ballet costume though - it's certainly nothing uncommon - adorable actually. But it's a ballerina tutu with tights and it does show her figure (well her 3 year old figure). And worse, I sent two group pictures so now there are pictures of lots of girls - not just mine. That makes me feel like I exposed these other children to him. I am remember the father's comments last night at rehearsal "no way my 3 year old is wearing makeup" --- "can't they make those costumes with full skirts so they cover more" --- "my daughter WILL wear underwear under her costume - not just tights" -- "Go change in the dressing room. I know you are 3 but there are too many people here for you to be changing in public." Comments from Dads who were concerned for, and protecting, their daughters. And I just sent their pictures out.
I just want to throw up now.
Earlier I tried to email my mom a video clip of my adorable 3 year old daughter's dance recital rehearsal (trying to be the good daughter here). It wouldn't go through - too big. Mom and I IM-ed a bit and I said I'd send pictures later. Well, just a few moments ago, I saw she was on IM. So I emailed the pics and then IM-ed her to say "go look at them." I wanted to hear her gushy comments about how cute my daughter was (about the only decent comments I hear from her).
I had looked at the time. I knew it was 1:30 pm. I knew she left for work at 1 pm. I just thought maybe she was going in late. The IMs were returned as "undeliverable" and she "signed off" ASAP.
I know what that means. I know it was Toilet on IM. My sister and I will sometimes IM mom and get that message. We both know that means he is the one on the computer. Because my mom would never resist a chance to IM (she gets such few since we mostly avoid her). Sometimes we'll call and he'll answer. I just say "let me talk to Mom" My sister hangs up on him and my mom knows to call my sister back.
I know better than to have sent that IM. The thought of that ...thing....going and looking at pictures of my daughter makes me want to throw up. I am very selective of what I send. No naked baby pictures. This was my daughter in her ballet costume though - it's certainly nothing uncommon - adorable actually. But it's a ballerina tutu with tights and it does show her figure (well her 3 year old figure). And worse, I sent two group pictures so now there are pictures of lots of girls - not just mine. That makes me feel like I exposed these other children to him. I am remember the father's comments last night at rehearsal "no way my 3 year old is wearing makeup" --- "can't they make those costumes with full skirts so they cover more" --- "my daughter WILL wear underwear under her costume - not just tights" -- "Go change in the dressing room. I know you are 3 but there are too many people here for you to be changing in public." Comments from Dads who were concerned for, and protecting, their daughters. And I just sent their pictures out.
I just want to throw up now.
What I wished I had Said
Slept pretty well. Two xanax 5 1/2 hours apart, one trilpetal and one melatonin will do that. Had a bit of a time getting up this morning. But woke up feeling okay.
On the drive in, had a memory of Easter a few years ago. My sister had her oldest two children, but her youngest was not yet born. I had not yet had my daughter. My mom came to visit for a few days as well. Everyone was at my house. My sister's son was about 3 at the time. He and his dad were wrestling. At one point my BIL picked Nephew up by feet and hung him upside down and pretended to bang his head on the ground. Nephew was laughing hysterically and screaming with joy. BIL was tapping his head on the ground, but it was a tap - not a pound.
My mom got upset and walked out. She said something about "I can't watch this." I went out to see what was up. She was actually crying. She said she thought BIL was playing too rough. I guess that constituted "physical abuse" to her so it was bad.
Have no idea why that memory came up or what it means.
What really, really got to me today was a comment from a partner here. We are having a seminar in our office and one of the assistants brought in donuts. It's Friday and someone always brings in food here. Apparently the business bought a platter of wraps too. One of the partners from another floor was up here. We have a standing joke between the floors where we'll ask "do you have a hall pass to be off your floor?" and other jokes like that. So I jostled his shoulder and joked "did you run all the way up here just to grab the first wrap?" His response was," Well I paid for them......or part of them." That totally pissed me off.
I know my numbers suck and I didn't meet my goal last year. I know he and I have gone round and round about installing another light on the side parking lot (where I park). He doesn't want to pay for upgrades. I think it is a safety matter. He is also the top rainmaker here. And I think he is pissed that I chose to delay partnership another year. But his comments are sarcastic and uncalled for.
Why am I letting this bother me? After a situation is over, I often think of what I wished I had said. To my Mom I wish I had said, "Well why don't you go run in and save Nephew? Oh wait, that's beyond the scope of your ability." or "maybe if they were wrestling naked, it would be more okay with you?" To the partner I wish I would have said, "Sarcasm doesn't become you" or "If you have something you want to say to me, just come out and say it. These sarcastic comments are juvenile."
On the drive in, had a memory of Easter a few years ago. My sister had her oldest two children, but her youngest was not yet born. I had not yet had my daughter. My mom came to visit for a few days as well. Everyone was at my house. My sister's son was about 3 at the time. He and his dad were wrestling. At one point my BIL picked Nephew up by feet and hung him upside down and pretended to bang his head on the ground. Nephew was laughing hysterically and screaming with joy. BIL was tapping his head on the ground, but it was a tap - not a pound.
My mom got upset and walked out. She said something about "I can't watch this." I went out to see what was up. She was actually crying. She said she thought BIL was playing too rough. I guess that constituted "physical abuse" to her so it was bad.
Have no idea why that memory came up or what it means.
What really, really got to me today was a comment from a partner here. We are having a seminar in our office and one of the assistants brought in donuts. It's Friday and someone always brings in food here. Apparently the business bought a platter of wraps too. One of the partners from another floor was up here. We have a standing joke between the floors where we'll ask "do you have a hall pass to be off your floor?" and other jokes like that. So I jostled his shoulder and joked "did you run all the way up here just to grab the first wrap?" His response was," Well I paid for them......or part of them." That totally pissed me off.
I know my numbers suck and I didn't meet my goal last year. I know he and I have gone round and round about installing another light on the side parking lot (where I park). He doesn't want to pay for upgrades. I think it is a safety matter. He is also the top rainmaker here. And I think he is pissed that I chose to delay partnership another year. But his comments are sarcastic and uncalled for.
Why am I letting this bother me? After a situation is over, I often think of what I wished I had said. To my Mom I wish I had said, "Well why don't you go run in and save Nephew? Oh wait, that's beyond the scope of your ability." or "maybe if they were wrestling naked, it would be more okay with you?" To the partner I wish I would have said, "Sarcasm doesn't become you" or "If you have something you want to say to me, just come out and say it. These sarcastic comments are juvenile."
Thursday, May 17, 2007
GAG - started with my gag reflex....
I have gotten better over the past two years due to all the jaw work I've had (braces, retainers, etc). But I still have a pretty intense gag reflex. I had some jaw work (surgery) done last week which required some stitches. They are disolveable stitches and are starting to work their way loose. I HATE anything dangling in my mouth. I don't care if it is just near my upper part of my mouth. It makes me gag.
Today I swiped my finger in my mouth and one of the stitches dislodged (they are much longer than I thought). It started down my throat and I gagged but caught it before I choked.
Now I can't get that feeling out of my head. I feel like there is something stuck in my throat. I've drunk 20 oz of coffee, 16 oz of water, eaten a sandwich, brushed my teeth and had a ton of mints. It is not helping. I finally took a xanax and now it is tolerable - but I've not had a bad panic attack since starting on this new trileptal meds and I think it's a boulder rolling downhill thing.... the gagging is triggering panic symptoms which is triggering worry that I will have a major panic attack while on this med even though I've been free of major ones since being on it which is triggering more panic which is triggering more gagging. Agh.
Any tips on dealing with this -- besides just ripping these stitches out or cutting the little dangly parts off?
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, it's several hours later and it's not better. I took the one xanax late morning. Then another at 4:30 pm. Then my trileptal at 7:30. I'm still jumpy and jittery and edgy and panicky. I'm not sure if it is still the gagging sensation (although that is still there). I'm living with chloraseptic now to numb my throat - it is helping some. I tried to swipe my mouth, mouthwash and get out as many of the stitches as possible. There are still a few that are just in there - at the very top. I know logically there is nothing in my throat but I just can't get the feeling to go away.
I have been jumpy and edgy all day. Could just be the end of the week blues. By the end of the week, I've usually had it and I think that is why I can resist cutting all week until Saturday. Although I really, really want to tonight. I have taken all the meds I can, except I'll take another xanax to sleep tonight and catch a break from this anxious feeling. I'm writing here and chatting with my SA online group too. They've been so helpful with suggestions and talking me down.
One poster said it could be "body memories". A flashback wherein you actually feel the sensations in your body; a memory using your senses. I've had a few of those. But never one with this - and none of what I remember would give me cause to have a gag reflex issue really. Not that I think. Although I have a huge issue with gum smacking. Drives me totally crazy. And my husband does it. Not the cracking of gum but chewing it like a cow. {{shudder}} It can send me from the bottom to the top of the panic scale in a second.
Anyway, I think I'm going to give up and watch my TV show and then go to bed early. I know better than to stay up past when DH goes to bed - that would make SI way too tempting tonight.
Today I swiped my finger in my mouth and one of the stitches dislodged (they are much longer than I thought). It started down my throat and I gagged but caught it before I choked.
Now I can't get that feeling out of my head. I feel like there is something stuck in my throat. I've drunk 20 oz of coffee, 16 oz of water, eaten a sandwich, brushed my teeth and had a ton of mints. It is not helping. I finally took a xanax and now it is tolerable - but I've not had a bad panic attack since starting on this new trileptal meds and I think it's a boulder rolling downhill thing.... the gagging is triggering panic symptoms which is triggering worry that I will have a major panic attack while on this med even though I've been free of major ones since being on it which is triggering more panic which is triggering more gagging. Agh.
Any tips on dealing with this -- besides just ripping these stitches out or cutting the little dangly parts off?
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, it's several hours later and it's not better. I took the one xanax late morning. Then another at 4:30 pm. Then my trileptal at 7:30. I'm still jumpy and jittery and edgy and panicky. I'm not sure if it is still the gagging sensation (although that is still there). I'm living with chloraseptic now to numb my throat - it is helping some. I tried to swipe my mouth, mouthwash and get out as many of the stitches as possible. There are still a few that are just in there - at the very top. I know logically there is nothing in my throat but I just can't get the feeling to go away.
I have been jumpy and edgy all day. Could just be the end of the week blues. By the end of the week, I've usually had it and I think that is why I can resist cutting all week until Saturday. Although I really, really want to tonight. I have taken all the meds I can, except I'll take another xanax to sleep tonight and catch a break from this anxious feeling. I'm writing here and chatting with my SA online group too. They've been so helpful with suggestions and talking me down.
One poster said it could be "body memories". A flashback wherein you actually feel the sensations in your body; a memory using your senses. I've had a few of those. But never one with this - and none of what I remember would give me cause to have a gag reflex issue really. Not that I think. Although I have a huge issue with gum smacking. Drives me totally crazy. And my husband does it. Not the cracking of gum but chewing it like a cow. {{shudder}} It can send me from the bottom to the top of the panic scale in a second.
Anyway, I think I'm going to give up and watch my TV show and then go to bed early. I know better than to stay up past when DH goes to bed - that would make SI way too tempting tonight.
Encounter with a Stranger
Have you ever run into a stranger or had an encounter where you realized someone else had the same coping mechanism as you (SI, in my case), and in that flash, connected some way?
Last night I was at the store picking up a few items -- Mederma and band-aids being two items. In the band-aid aisle I had to stop and look because they had moved stuff around. They had gotten rid of the generic large band-aids too. Another woman was there looking. I noticed she had razor blades in her hand and also picked up a box of large sized band-aids. Our eyes caught and she knew that I knew - and I noticed her looking at my purchases and I knew that she knew. Our eyes seemed to convey that slightly embarrassed, slightly glad to know I'm not the only one - message. That was the end of our encounter but when I left I felt like I knew her.
Last night I was at the store picking up a few items -- Mederma and band-aids being two items. In the band-aid aisle I had to stop and look because they had moved stuff around. They had gotten rid of the generic large band-aids too. Another woman was there looking. I noticed she had razor blades in her hand and also picked up a box of large sized band-aids. Our eyes caught and she knew that I knew - and I noticed her looking at my purchases and I knew that she knew. Our eyes seemed to convey that slightly embarrassed, slightly glad to know I'm not the only one - message. That was the end of our encounter but when I left I felt like I knew her.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
THUNK
That is the sound of me THUNKing myself upside the head. I was up very late last night, tossing and turning in bed. Couldn't stop thinking and worrying. Regretted posting the blog entry last night because here I was telling everyone in the world (well, okay you few and faithful readers) about all these changes I was going to make. All of a sudden I didn't want to do it anymore. I wanted to crawl back under my rock and live life as I have been.
I went from neutral - staying where I am - to 100 miles an hour - geared up for change, over one simple comment. Went home and had this 1 hour conversation with DH and we decided to sell our house. What are we? Crazy? I know that I spend way too much time agonizing over decisions and looking at them from every angle. And that once I make a decision, I am in it 110%, full speed forward. But this is a bit much, even for me. AGH. Total stress.
Finally did fall asleep and woke up panicked. Decided to take action. Busyness always works. Rushed out of the house (partly to avoid cutting) and to work. Filled my day. Emailed a bunch of colleagues who are working moms asking for advice on managing work flexibility and motherhood. Called our realtor and told her we'd be ready in 2 weeks. (not sure she believes me, we've been here before). Started trying to do everything all at once, and flipping out about it all.
Then I opened a friend's message. This is what she wrote after her own T session -
Last week she taught me a way of dealing with the things that cause me stress. She had me close my eyes and picture a 'safe' place, and in that place, a box of whatever shape and size I wanted. She had me picture each of my stressors as words on slips of paper, and had me put them in the box. Then she had me lock the box and put it away where no one else would find it. She said I was only allowed to take one thing out of the box at a time. It has been helpful.
Wow. That was powerful. So I tried it. I am letting myself work on the house issue. That's it. Well, okay I did interview an asst today and make someone an offer (prayers that if she is the right person that she accepts). But personally, I'm dealing with house first. Then work. House - then work. House- then work. If I say that long enough maybe I'll ingrain it on my head. Course I could engrave it on my leg..........oops that was a bad, very sarcastic remark. But I'm getting better about letting it all out here - even the ugly part of me. So I'll try to leave it.
I went from neutral - staying where I am - to 100 miles an hour - geared up for change, over one simple comment. Went home and had this 1 hour conversation with DH and we decided to sell our house. What are we? Crazy? I know that I spend way too much time agonizing over decisions and looking at them from every angle. And that once I make a decision, I am in it 110%, full speed forward. But this is a bit much, even for me. AGH. Total stress.
Finally did fall asleep and woke up panicked. Decided to take action. Busyness always works. Rushed out of the house (partly to avoid cutting) and to work. Filled my day. Emailed a bunch of colleagues who are working moms asking for advice on managing work flexibility and motherhood. Called our realtor and told her we'd be ready in 2 weeks. (not sure she believes me, we've been here before). Started trying to do everything all at once, and flipping out about it all.
Then I opened a friend's message. This is what she wrote after her own T session -
Last week she taught me a way of dealing with the things that cause me stress. She had me close my eyes and picture a 'safe' place, and in that place, a box of whatever shape and size I wanted. She had me picture each of my stressors as words on slips of paper, and had me put them in the box. Then she had me lock the box and put it away where no one else would find it. She said I was only allowed to take one thing out of the box at a time. It has been helpful.
Wow. That was powerful. So I tried it. I am letting myself work on the house issue. That's it. Well, okay I did interview an asst today and make someone an offer (prayers that if she is the right person that she accepts). But personally, I'm dealing with house first. Then work. House - then work. House- then work. If I say that long enough maybe I'll ingrain it on my head. Course I could engrave it on my leg..........oops that was a bad, very sarcastic remark. But I'm getting better about letting it all out here - even the ugly part of me. So I'll try to leave it.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
WHACK
WHACK - that is the sound of something thunking me upside the head.
Some people are tree people. They stop, notice, ponder and admire every single tree they come across – but they never notice the forest. Other people see the big, immense forest. But miss all the individual trees along the way. I’m a forest type of person. I’ll blunder along in the woods tripping over downed logs, getting smacked in the face with branches, and on occasion running face first into a tree (well, okay it was a rock wall at a very nice resort, but hang with me for metaphor’s sake).
People talk about God leading them and sensing God’s direction in life. Tell of a time when God spoke to them. I have no doubt God exists on a big-scale, forest type level. There are times when God has reached down through the forest and placed a big tree in front of me and said, "(name) - meet the tree. This is Me. Have no doubt about it." Leaving law school and moving here to take my first full-time job was one time. It was an out-of-control, makes no intellectual sense, yet have such a feeling of something being right, feeling. I knew it had to be God. Other times, I’ll be part-way through the forest and feel a bruised sensation. I’ll realize that God whacked me with a tree limb awhile back - I just didn’t notice for awhile. I think it is one of those "hindsight is 20-20" type things.
I have told other people, in a joking way, that I’m pretty dense sometimes. I have trouble backing up and seeing where something is going. I tell people that I need an Old Testament type message. Where is my burning bush? Parting of the sea? I need God to whack me upside the head. I’ve prayed for God to "whack me upside the head." WHACK. God took me up on the offer. Only it took more whacks, and harder whacks, than I expected.
I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past few weeks. And to reflect over the past year or two. The "experts" say the hardest times in life are when you go through school, get married, have a child, change jobs and other such events. Those were challenging. But they didn’t cause a huge emotional upheaval in my life. In the past eighteen months, none of those things have happened to me. Yet it’s been the most difficult time of my life.
My daughter turned 1 in January 2005. She was developing into her own person with her own set of ideas, demands and expectations. Her personality began to shine. WHACK. I was diagnosed "officially" with TMJ. I started with appliances, then was told I’d need extensive jaw surgery and be out of work at least 6 weeks. WHACK. I went to the state dental school and discovered a new "experimental" procedure which was less invasive, but more expensive. Ultimately, while still the best choice (I think) this procedure took me out of work several days, required two pretty major (although comparatively minor) surgeries and braces. WHACK. My daughter started being involved in activities, like dance and preschool choir, and both wanted me there and I felt a burning need to be there as well. WHACK. My husband and I struggled with our roles in the family. We found things lopsided from the way we think God intended them to be. WHACK. Our heat and air-conditioning pump went out and required replacement. WHACK. I started having issues and being uncomfortable with my mother. WHACK. I began dealing with my abusive childhood. WHACK WHACK (that deserved two). I also began dealing with what I did as a result of the abuse - my control issues, my fears, and other things. WHACK WHACK WHACK (that deserved three!).
A simple little comment today made me see that while I’m in the middle of the forest, God has been whacking me upside the head for a LONG time now. Hey, who am I to complain? I asked for it (ouch). I’m picturing God up in heaven shaking His head in that fatherly fashion. Saying, "this hurts me more than it hurts you." WHACK. While I have been down here ranting and raving to God, questioning where He was during all the abuse (okay I still don’t have an answer there - but I’m letting that one go for now); wondering why God is making me go through this; and complaining that it’s too much — God has been answering my prayer all along. WHACK.
Today, a colleague half-jokingly said to me, "why don’t you just come work with me?" Normally, I would have dismissed that comment and not given it a second thought. Today it registered. Which prompted a discussion in T. Which prompted a discussion with DH. So...... a very long story, discussion and prayer-time later..........it all comes down to control. WHACK. Or rather, the giving up of control.
I have been trying to manage everything and to be the best at everything. Best Mom. Best Wife. Best Employee. Best Christian. I’ve been failing at everything. One little comment and one LONG ride home, made me re-think lots of things. I say that my priorities are God, Family and then Work. But I don’t live that way. I am working to make money. To pay off my school loans. To get ahead. I keep telling myself that I need to suck this up and deal with it so that I can live better in a few years. Only those few years have turned into several years. And the sacrifices have been much more than I expected. Also, they keep getting worse. And I’m losing myself in the process.
Maybe, just maybe (and I have no idea how I feel about this yet, except that frankly when I actually allow myself to think about it, I suspect I’ll be totally pissed), these past eighteen months have been about my falling low enough - getting WHACKED enough times - to see that it’s not about me being in control. That it is about giving God control. If, and only if, that is the case - then I GET IT. Stop the WHACKING. (Okay, give up suspecting, I know I’ll be totally pissed when I think about this).
Dealing with the abuse, jaw problems, daughter getting older, my fall at the resort, dealing with the abuse (yes, I know I said that twice - it warranted repeating) has totally knocked my socks off. I’ve had to admit, yelled it at times, that I can’t handle this. I’ve carved words into my leg as a visible sign that my life is out of control. Let’s face it - I’ve been knocked on my butt. It’s taken two jaw surgeries, a whole slew of medications, controlled substances, cutting, missing out on a huge job promotion, multiple panic attacks and a whole host of other crap for me to see it. WHACK.
So, IF I admit I’m not in control. IF I am willing to give up control, then what? An off-the cuff remark today made me think about totally changing my life. Changing jobs, housing, lifestyle. Agh. In T and then with DH, I talked about things a long time tonight. DH & I prayed together. I’m not sure where this is going. But I know that I’m going to be watching out for the trees along the way.
Some people are tree people. They stop, notice, ponder and admire every single tree they come across – but they never notice the forest. Other people see the big, immense forest. But miss all the individual trees along the way. I’m a forest type of person. I’ll blunder along in the woods tripping over downed logs, getting smacked in the face with branches, and on occasion running face first into a tree (well, okay it was a rock wall at a very nice resort, but hang with me for metaphor’s sake).
People talk about God leading them and sensing God’s direction in life. Tell of a time when God spoke to them. I have no doubt God exists on a big-scale, forest type level. There are times when God has reached down through the forest and placed a big tree in front of me and said, "(name) - meet the tree. This is Me. Have no doubt about it." Leaving law school and moving here to take my first full-time job was one time. It was an out-of-control, makes no intellectual sense, yet have such a feeling of something being right, feeling. I knew it had to be God. Other times, I’ll be part-way through the forest and feel a bruised sensation. I’ll realize that God whacked me with a tree limb awhile back - I just didn’t notice for awhile. I think it is one of those "hindsight is 20-20" type things.
I have told other people, in a joking way, that I’m pretty dense sometimes. I have trouble backing up and seeing where something is going. I tell people that I need an Old Testament type message. Where is my burning bush? Parting of the sea? I need God to whack me upside the head. I’ve prayed for God to "whack me upside the head." WHACK. God took me up on the offer. Only it took more whacks, and harder whacks, than I expected.
I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past few weeks. And to reflect over the past year or two. The "experts" say the hardest times in life are when you go through school, get married, have a child, change jobs and other such events. Those were challenging. But they didn’t cause a huge emotional upheaval in my life. In the past eighteen months, none of those things have happened to me. Yet it’s been the most difficult time of my life.
My daughter turned 1 in January 2005. She was developing into her own person with her own set of ideas, demands and expectations. Her personality began to shine. WHACK. I was diagnosed "officially" with TMJ. I started with appliances, then was told I’d need extensive jaw surgery and be out of work at least 6 weeks. WHACK. I went to the state dental school and discovered a new "experimental" procedure which was less invasive, but more expensive. Ultimately, while still the best choice (I think) this procedure took me out of work several days, required two pretty major (although comparatively minor) surgeries and braces. WHACK. My daughter started being involved in activities, like dance and preschool choir, and both wanted me there and I felt a burning need to be there as well. WHACK. My husband and I struggled with our roles in the family. We found things lopsided from the way we think God intended them to be. WHACK. Our heat and air-conditioning pump went out and required replacement. WHACK. I started having issues and being uncomfortable with my mother. WHACK. I began dealing with my abusive childhood. WHACK WHACK (that deserved two). I also began dealing with what I did as a result of the abuse - my control issues, my fears, and other things. WHACK WHACK WHACK (that deserved three!).
A simple little comment today made me see that while I’m in the middle of the forest, God has been whacking me upside the head for a LONG time now. Hey, who am I to complain? I asked for it (ouch). I’m picturing God up in heaven shaking His head in that fatherly fashion. Saying, "this hurts me more than it hurts you." WHACK. While I have been down here ranting and raving to God, questioning where He was during all the abuse (okay I still don’t have an answer there - but I’m letting that one go for now); wondering why God is making me go through this; and complaining that it’s too much — God has been answering my prayer all along. WHACK.
Today, a colleague half-jokingly said to me, "why don’t you just come work with me?" Normally, I would have dismissed that comment and not given it a second thought. Today it registered. Which prompted a discussion in T. Which prompted a discussion with DH. So...... a very long story, discussion and prayer-time later..........it all comes down to control. WHACK. Or rather, the giving up of control.
I have been trying to manage everything and to be the best at everything. Best Mom. Best Wife. Best Employee. Best Christian. I’ve been failing at everything. One little comment and one LONG ride home, made me re-think lots of things. I say that my priorities are God, Family and then Work. But I don’t live that way. I am working to make money. To pay off my school loans. To get ahead. I keep telling myself that I need to suck this up and deal with it so that I can live better in a few years. Only those few years have turned into several years. And the sacrifices have been much more than I expected. Also, they keep getting worse. And I’m losing myself in the process.
Maybe, just maybe (and I have no idea how I feel about this yet, except that frankly when I actually allow myself to think about it, I suspect I’ll be totally pissed), these past eighteen months have been about my falling low enough - getting WHACKED enough times - to see that it’s not about me being in control. That it is about giving God control. If, and only if, that is the case - then I GET IT. Stop the WHACKING. (Okay, give up suspecting, I know I’ll be totally pissed when I think about this).
Dealing with the abuse, jaw problems, daughter getting older, my fall at the resort, dealing with the abuse (yes, I know I said that twice - it warranted repeating) has totally knocked my socks off. I’ve had to admit, yelled it at times, that I can’t handle this. I’ve carved words into my leg as a visible sign that my life is out of control. Let’s face it - I’ve been knocked on my butt. It’s taken two jaw surgeries, a whole slew of medications, controlled substances, cutting, missing out on a huge job promotion, multiple panic attacks and a whole host of other crap for me to see it. WHACK.
So, IF I admit I’m not in control. IF I am willing to give up control, then what? An off-the cuff remark today made me think about totally changing my life. Changing jobs, housing, lifestyle. Agh. In T and then with DH, I talked about things a long time tonight. DH & I prayed together. I’m not sure where this is going. But I know that I’m going to be watching out for the trees along the way.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Pepsi
One thing that continually surprises me through this process is the effect some simple word, thought, or object can have on me. With the new anxiety medication, I began tracking my diet, medications and a whole list of other things. I began to notice a correlation between my love for caffeinated pepsi and coffee and panic/anxiety. My doctor suggested I cut out caffeine and I laughed. No way. I've given up an awful lot because of panic, but I will not give up my caffeine.
When the panic kept getting worse, I decided that perhaps I could cut down to one soda/coffee a day. However, with cutting down, the pattern became even more clear. Drink my coffee - anxiety goes up. Have an afternoon Pepsi.....along with a panic attack.
With my jaw surgery, I was off of everything, including coffee and soda. The pain meds masked a caffeine headache - if I had one. The logical side of me decided I needed to try to make the break now. I had no problems ordering decaf coffee drinks over the weekend or even picking up the decaf pot this morning. But when I came home and was confronted with a choice between regular and caffeine free pepsi, I found myself overly irritated. Of course, being me, I had to "analyze it" LOL
When we were younger, soda was off-limits for my sister and I. We could run free in the streets, drink alcohol, cut school, and have boyfriends spend the night. But do not touch the Pepsi in the fridge. It had to be Pepsi - not Coke and not a knock off brand. We could be scraping pennies everywhere and Mom would find a way to buy her Pepsi. I remember one especially tight month, when money was really tight. I suggested buying a no-name soda instead of Pepsi, and mom about knocked my block off. We were never given an explanation about why we couldn't have Pepsi. Mom would mumble something about "not buying that for kids." We drank water or kool-aid.
On rare occasions and as a huge treat, we were allowed to have 1/2 glass of Pepsi on a Friday night. When I went to college, the soda fountain had Pepsi in it. What a huge treat to have Pepsi whenever I wanted. When I came home to visit, I hesitantly tested the boundaries. Nope - no pepsi -- unless I wanted to buy it myself. "Too expensive to be drinking that all the time."
My husband and I have had our own disagreements about soda. I insist on Pepsi. He doesn't care and thinks I should drink what is on sale. But it's not about the Pepsi, or the coffee, or any other caffeinated drink. It's about being able to have it -- the right to drink it -- the fact that no one can tell me No anymore. So when the doctor and well-meaning friends suggested I drop caffeine, the stubborn part of me resisted. But now that I've thought it through.....well, I didn't really want to be like mom anyway! So I'll proudly lift my caffeine-free Pepsi for a toast, admiring the gold letters that signify that my body is caffeine free.
When the panic kept getting worse, I decided that perhaps I could cut down to one soda/coffee a day. However, with cutting down, the pattern became even more clear. Drink my coffee - anxiety goes up. Have an afternoon Pepsi.....along with a panic attack.
With my jaw surgery, I was off of everything, including coffee and soda. The pain meds masked a caffeine headache - if I had one. The logical side of me decided I needed to try to make the break now. I had no problems ordering decaf coffee drinks over the weekend or even picking up the decaf pot this morning. But when I came home and was confronted with a choice between regular and caffeine free pepsi, I found myself overly irritated. Of course, being me, I had to "analyze it" LOL
When we were younger, soda was off-limits for my sister and I. We could run free in the streets, drink alcohol, cut school, and have boyfriends spend the night. But do not touch the Pepsi in the fridge. It had to be Pepsi - not Coke and not a knock off brand. We could be scraping pennies everywhere and Mom would find a way to buy her Pepsi. I remember one especially tight month, when money was really tight. I suggested buying a no-name soda instead of Pepsi, and mom about knocked my block off. We were never given an explanation about why we couldn't have Pepsi. Mom would mumble something about "not buying that for kids." We drank water or kool-aid.
On rare occasions and as a huge treat, we were allowed to have 1/2 glass of Pepsi on a Friday night. When I went to college, the soda fountain had Pepsi in it. What a huge treat to have Pepsi whenever I wanted. When I came home to visit, I hesitantly tested the boundaries. Nope - no pepsi -- unless I wanted to buy it myself. "Too expensive to be drinking that all the time."
My husband and I have had our own disagreements about soda. I insist on Pepsi. He doesn't care and thinks I should drink what is on sale. But it's not about the Pepsi, or the coffee, or any other caffeinated drink. It's about being able to have it -- the right to drink it -- the fact that no one can tell me No anymore. So when the doctor and well-meaning friends suggested I drop caffeine, the stubborn part of me resisted. But now that I've thought it through.....well, I didn't really want to be like mom anyway! So I'll proudly lift my caffeine-free Pepsi for a toast, admiring the gold letters that signify that my body is caffeine free.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Identity Crisis
This last month has not been especially easy for my dear husband (DH). He has had to adjust to my adding in a new medication, side effects and dealing with jaw issues. He's really stepped up to the plate as far as helping out more around the house. This weekend, his patience hit a huge wall.
When I called DH on the phone to tell him that I could get the surgery scheduled for Thursday, he said "okay" right away. Only when we got home did he mention a softball game he had scheduled that night. He thought maybe he could still go since it was at 9 and both our daughter and me would be in bed. The few days before the surgery I was trying to prepare myself and he kept downplaying it - saying it would be fine. I tried to make him understand that it was not the medical procedure itself that bothered me, it was the lack of control, the recovery time, the medications that made me feel loopy, and the feeling like I was too weak to do anything. I'm not sure he understood. All he kept doing was comparing it to his having braces and his having knee surgery. Kept saying I'd be fine. So I convinced myself I was.
The morning of surgery I was cleaning house - anything to distract myself. He was rushing me out the door. Turns out he wanted to stop by a gun store to pick up some reading material. After the surgery, he brought me home and put me to bed. Then he played on playstation all afternoon. I staggered out of bed periodically to get more medications. In the evening, he went to pick up our daughter. When they got home, he fixed supper for her and him. I fixed my own supper while she climbed all over me. I was too tired and sore to make her stop. I told myself to ignore the fact that he wasn't fixing my dinner or making our daughter calm down. But it bothered me that he didn't notice.
That night he was annoyed because, despite surgery, I wanted to watch my TV show. I had set up the tape recorder just in case I fell asleep. So he told me to go sleep in the bedroom and watch it there, he'd take the couch so he could play on his playstation. That night he debated for about 30 minutes about whether he was going to work out or not and what he should take to lunch. He was complaining a whole lot and sounded really aggravated. However, he did not make too much of a fuss when he asked if it was okay for him to go play softball and I told him I wasn't comfortable being home alone with our daughter. But he did get aggravated that he couldn't decide when to work out and that there was nothing to take for lunch. Everything I suggested was "disgusting."
Friday morning he got up and took our daughter to school. But not before he let her come and wake me up and expected me to occupy her while he got ready. They left and I went back to sleep. He called and woke me up to fuss because apparently my tires had 3 nail holes in them. He had taken my car to have the oil changed. So he was late to work. I went back to bed. He called about lunch and woke me again - he was going to work out at the YMCA. He called late afternoon and woke me again. This time I got edgy and told him to quit calling - I was trying to sleep. He said he was "just calling to check in" but really it was because he couldn't decide about leaving early or not. Never mind he had gone in late, taken a long lunch and been out all day Thursday. He wanted to leave work early too.
He continued to complain all Friday night. There was nothing to eat and nothing to do. He kept asking if I wanted to watch our Blockbuster movie. I said "sure, but don't worry if I fall asleep. You keep watching." That wasn't what he wanted to hear. When he got home Friday, he started complaining about being sweaty and he was going to shower. I, once again, fixed my supper. He started the water boiling for our daughter's meal (mac and cheese). I finished making it for her. Then he spent 30 minutes trying to decide if he ought to go hiking then or in the morning. He also kept asking me our plans for the weekend and when I wanted to go out to eat for Mother's Day and where I wanted to go. I told him that I wasn't sure what I would be up for and let's take it one day at a time. He didn't like that.
Woke up this morning (Sat) to my daughter climbing all over me. DH was still asleep in the other room. I had taken pain meds shortly before that and was really out of it. I don't remember much except that she and DH left to take the dog hiking. I slept some more. Then I got up later. He came home and wanted to know what we were going to do all day. I asked him if we could go to the library so I could get a book to read and then swing by and pick up a refill on my pain meds. So we did that, even though he didn't think it was too exciting. He complained about other drivers the entire way. He kept talking about what was for lunch - I think he wanted to go out to eat. The simple drive to the library and picking out books exhausted me. I was done in. I think he was aggravated I wasn't up for lunch - although I suggested he pick something up. Everything I suggested, he said "yuck." I offered him some of the soup I had doctored up and mentioned what I had put in it. He said, "Turkey? Why the hell would you put that in there. That's disgusting." I said, "Because I like it that way."
We were silent the rest of the way home. I realized that I felt very much like a little kid. Growing up, my dad would get in funks like this. I would tiptoe around trying not to upset the apple cart. Trying to smooth things over. I decided right then and there to quit it. If he wanted to act like a little child, that was fine. He was entitled to have a bad day, but I didn't have to put up with his childish attitude.
We came home and I went to sleep on the couch. Before I drifted off, DH was making comments about cancelling our plans to go to friends and watch the Nascar race. He didn't think I was up for it. His tone was that of making it sound like I was too weak. I suggested he call and cancel and he said "No, you made those plans, you deal with it." Never mind that the entire reason for making the plans was because I knew he'd be feeling cooped up by today and would need to get out. So I went to sleep. When I woke from my nap, I told him we needed to make a decision. He wanted to discuss (again) what we were bringing for food. I told him I thought we had decided already. He wanted to debate it again. Then about where (what store) we would get the pizza from. I tried agreeing with his suggestion but then he'd change his mind. I tried saying "I didn't care" but then he got mad that I wasn't helping him decide.
He kept saying things like "will you be okay?" What will you eat? You know it will be late? Will daughter be okay that late. Finally I said that I was pretty sore and tired and why didn't we cancel. So he called and cancelled. Then he said he felt guilty because our friend had mentioned how much he was looking forward to it. So then he comments to me about how I should have called earlier. And why did I make such plans so soon after surgery anyway. And why couldn't I just go there and lie around.
Finally I had it. I said to him, "I can't win. I've tried to give all the right answers and act the right way. But I just can't figure out how. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to do to make you happy" BINGO. Light bulb moment. He didn't get it of course. He was still too worried about letting the friend down. He ultimately decided to go anyway, and just leave me here alone.
But I got it. I spent the last few days as the little girl. The little girl I was growing up. Hiding from Dad. Trying to smooth things over as he raged and lost his temper. Trying to make things okay. Trying to be helpful and suggesting meals when he complained about there being nothing to eat. Saying how wonderful a time I was having when he complained about the weather or traffic.
This afternoon I turned into my mom. The one that doesn't give one thought to what ~I~ really want. But who turns myself into whatever he wants me to be. If I think he believes I should go, then I "want" to go. If I think he believes it would be too much, then I "don't want" to go. I've lost myself.
It's an Identity Crisis and I've lost myself. I'm learning how to express emotions again........slowly. But I still have trouble figuring out what I want---not what I think I should or ought to want -- but what I really want.
When I called DH on the phone to tell him that I could get the surgery scheduled for Thursday, he said "okay" right away. Only when we got home did he mention a softball game he had scheduled that night. He thought maybe he could still go since it was at 9 and both our daughter and me would be in bed. The few days before the surgery I was trying to prepare myself and he kept downplaying it - saying it would be fine. I tried to make him understand that it was not the medical procedure itself that bothered me, it was the lack of control, the recovery time, the medications that made me feel loopy, and the feeling like I was too weak to do anything. I'm not sure he understood. All he kept doing was comparing it to his having braces and his having knee surgery. Kept saying I'd be fine. So I convinced myself I was.
The morning of surgery I was cleaning house - anything to distract myself. He was rushing me out the door. Turns out he wanted to stop by a gun store to pick up some reading material. After the surgery, he brought me home and put me to bed. Then he played on playstation all afternoon. I staggered out of bed periodically to get more medications. In the evening, he went to pick up our daughter. When they got home, he fixed supper for her and him. I fixed my own supper while she climbed all over me. I was too tired and sore to make her stop. I told myself to ignore the fact that he wasn't fixing my dinner or making our daughter calm down. But it bothered me that he didn't notice.
That night he was annoyed because, despite surgery, I wanted to watch my TV show. I had set up the tape recorder just in case I fell asleep. So he told me to go sleep in the bedroom and watch it there, he'd take the couch so he could play on his playstation. That night he debated for about 30 minutes about whether he was going to work out or not and what he should take to lunch. He was complaining a whole lot and sounded really aggravated. However, he did not make too much of a fuss when he asked if it was okay for him to go play softball and I told him I wasn't comfortable being home alone with our daughter. But he did get aggravated that he couldn't decide when to work out and that there was nothing to take for lunch. Everything I suggested was "disgusting."
Friday morning he got up and took our daughter to school. But not before he let her come and wake me up and expected me to occupy her while he got ready. They left and I went back to sleep. He called and woke me up to fuss because apparently my tires had 3 nail holes in them. He had taken my car to have the oil changed. So he was late to work. I went back to bed. He called about lunch and woke me again - he was going to work out at the YMCA. He called late afternoon and woke me again. This time I got edgy and told him to quit calling - I was trying to sleep. He said he was "just calling to check in" but really it was because he couldn't decide about leaving early or not. Never mind he had gone in late, taken a long lunch and been out all day Thursday. He wanted to leave work early too.
He continued to complain all Friday night. There was nothing to eat and nothing to do. He kept asking if I wanted to watch our Blockbuster movie. I said "sure, but don't worry if I fall asleep. You keep watching." That wasn't what he wanted to hear. When he got home Friday, he started complaining about being sweaty and he was going to shower. I, once again, fixed my supper. He started the water boiling for our daughter's meal (mac and cheese). I finished making it for her. Then he spent 30 minutes trying to decide if he ought to go hiking then or in the morning. He also kept asking me our plans for the weekend and when I wanted to go out to eat for Mother's Day and where I wanted to go. I told him that I wasn't sure what I would be up for and let's take it one day at a time. He didn't like that.
Woke up this morning (Sat) to my daughter climbing all over me. DH was still asleep in the other room. I had taken pain meds shortly before that and was really out of it. I don't remember much except that she and DH left to take the dog hiking. I slept some more. Then I got up later. He came home and wanted to know what we were going to do all day. I asked him if we could go to the library so I could get a book to read and then swing by and pick up a refill on my pain meds. So we did that, even though he didn't think it was too exciting. He complained about other drivers the entire way. He kept talking about what was for lunch - I think he wanted to go out to eat. The simple drive to the library and picking out books exhausted me. I was done in. I think he was aggravated I wasn't up for lunch - although I suggested he pick something up. Everything I suggested, he said "yuck." I offered him some of the soup I had doctored up and mentioned what I had put in it. He said, "Turkey? Why the hell would you put that in there. That's disgusting." I said, "Because I like it that way."
We were silent the rest of the way home. I realized that I felt very much like a little kid. Growing up, my dad would get in funks like this. I would tiptoe around trying not to upset the apple cart. Trying to smooth things over. I decided right then and there to quit it. If he wanted to act like a little child, that was fine. He was entitled to have a bad day, but I didn't have to put up with his childish attitude.
We came home and I went to sleep on the couch. Before I drifted off, DH was making comments about cancelling our plans to go to friends and watch the Nascar race. He didn't think I was up for it. His tone was that of making it sound like I was too weak. I suggested he call and cancel and he said "No, you made those plans, you deal with it." Never mind that the entire reason for making the plans was because I knew he'd be feeling cooped up by today and would need to get out. So I went to sleep. When I woke from my nap, I told him we needed to make a decision. He wanted to discuss (again) what we were bringing for food. I told him I thought we had decided already. He wanted to debate it again. Then about where (what store) we would get the pizza from. I tried agreeing with his suggestion but then he'd change his mind. I tried saying "I didn't care" but then he got mad that I wasn't helping him decide.
He kept saying things like "will you be okay?" What will you eat? You know it will be late? Will daughter be okay that late. Finally I said that I was pretty sore and tired and why didn't we cancel. So he called and cancelled. Then he said he felt guilty because our friend had mentioned how much he was looking forward to it. So then he comments to me about how I should have called earlier. And why did I make such plans so soon after surgery anyway. And why couldn't I just go there and lie around.
Finally I had it. I said to him, "I can't win. I've tried to give all the right answers and act the right way. But I just can't figure out how. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to do to make you happy" BINGO. Light bulb moment. He didn't get it of course. He was still too worried about letting the friend down. He ultimately decided to go anyway, and just leave me here alone.
But I got it. I spent the last few days as the little girl. The little girl I was growing up. Hiding from Dad. Trying to smooth things over as he raged and lost his temper. Trying to make things okay. Trying to be helpful and suggesting meals when he complained about there being nothing to eat. Saying how wonderful a time I was having when he complained about the weather or traffic.
This afternoon I turned into my mom. The one that doesn't give one thought to what ~I~ really want. But who turns myself into whatever he wants me to be. If I think he believes I should go, then I "want" to go. If I think he believes it would be too much, then I "don't want" to go. I've lost myself.
It's an Identity Crisis and I've lost myself. I'm learning how to express emotions again........slowly. But I still have trouble figuring out what I want---not what I think I should or ought to want -- but what I really want.
So I coped the way I usually do...the way that is really me....the way I wanted to cope -- even after a long bath, deep breathing, nap, and medication.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Mothers Day
(two posts in one day - must be pain meds induced - LOL)
I've been home all day recovering from surgery. Day time TV leaves a lot to be desired. And of course, today being the Friday before Mother's Day, everyone is having Mother's Day specials. Bleh. Even the news and radio are all having "win a special present for your special mom." Bleh. It was really getting on my nerves.
I decided to venture out of the house this afternoon as far as the mailbox. I opened it to find a card addressed to me. It was from my Mother-in-law wishing me a Happy Mother's Day and contained a check for me. I may be in the running for the worst bio mom, but I sure hit the jackpot for mother-in-laws.
My mother-in-law (MIL) is the sweetest woman ever. Her oldest son (husband's oldest brother) is autistic and still lives at home. MIL and FIL were told to institutionalize him - that's back when autism wasn't really understood. They refused and have raised him up the best they know how. They consider him a blessing in their lives - he still lives at home with them.
When I went away to law school, I had a moment where I regretted it. MIL invited me to come back that weekend and stay with them. I did. Every single weekend thereafter, I would come to their house and stay. They welcomed me with open arms.
MIL has adopted my sister as well. She has only met my sister once in person. Yet she sends her cards for every holiday and buys my niece and nephews Christmas presents. MIL was helpful in every aspect of the wedding planning, showers for my wedding and my birth. She was the one who stayed with me a week to help after I gave birth. When my husband tore his meniscus (knee muscle), she used her weeks vacation to come stay and help out. She and FIL have babysat our dog countless times, and never fail to offer to help with caring for our daughter. When my daughter had tubes put in her ears, I'm not sure that she wasn't more concerned than me. When I had my slip and fall accident, she dropped everything and rushed up here to be with my daughter so my husband could come be with me.
MIL is taking off next week to come to my daughter's dance recital. She came up two weeks ago to see daughter's performance at church. She works in a grocery store in a tiny town. Everyone in town knows my daughter because MIL has a little brag book she shows off to all the shoppers.
MIL has remarked that one regret is that they didn't try for a third child (they decided not to after finding out BIL had autism). She always wanted a daughter. But then she told me that it's okay because now she has me. I love my mother-in-law. Maybe if I'd had the perfect mom, my MIL would have felt smothering or I wouldn't have been so appreciative of what she does. Really, though, she is the best - mother figure to me and grandmother to my daughter.
I've been home all day recovering from surgery. Day time TV leaves a lot to be desired. And of course, today being the Friday before Mother's Day, everyone is having Mother's Day specials. Bleh. Even the news and radio are all having "win a special present for your special mom." Bleh. It was really getting on my nerves.
I decided to venture out of the house this afternoon as far as the mailbox. I opened it to find a card addressed to me. It was from my Mother-in-law wishing me a Happy Mother's Day and contained a check for me. I may be in the running for the worst bio mom, but I sure hit the jackpot for mother-in-laws.
My mother-in-law (MIL) is the sweetest woman ever. Her oldest son (husband's oldest brother) is autistic and still lives at home. MIL and FIL were told to institutionalize him - that's back when autism wasn't really understood. They refused and have raised him up the best they know how. They consider him a blessing in their lives - he still lives at home with them.
When I went away to law school, I had a moment where I regretted it. MIL invited me to come back that weekend and stay with them. I did. Every single weekend thereafter, I would come to their house and stay. They welcomed me with open arms.
MIL has adopted my sister as well. She has only met my sister once in person. Yet she sends her cards for every holiday and buys my niece and nephews Christmas presents. MIL was helpful in every aspect of the wedding planning, showers for my wedding and my birth. She was the one who stayed with me a week to help after I gave birth. When my husband tore his meniscus (knee muscle), she used her weeks vacation to come stay and help out. She and FIL have babysat our dog countless times, and never fail to offer to help with caring for our daughter. When my daughter had tubes put in her ears, I'm not sure that she wasn't more concerned than me. When I had my slip and fall accident, she dropped everything and rushed up here to be with my daughter so my husband could come be with me.
MIL is taking off next week to come to my daughter's dance recital. She came up two weeks ago to see daughter's performance at church. She works in a grocery store in a tiny town. Everyone in town knows my daughter because MIL has a little brag book she shows off to all the shoppers.
MIL has remarked that one regret is that they didn't try for a third child (they decided not to after finding out BIL had autism). She always wanted a daughter. But then she told me that it's okay because now she has me. I love my mother-in-law. Maybe if I'd had the perfect mom, my MIL would have felt smothering or I wouldn't have been so appreciative of what she does. Really, though, she is the best - mother figure to me and grandmother to my daughter.
Jaw Surgery Update and Mom vent
Brief background - vicious TMJ started me on a road 2 1/2 years ago to fix my jaw. I started with approximately one year of wearing appliances in my mouth (like retainers). When that was done, I had a new type of jaw surgery where bone anchor screws, plates, bolts and pins were drilled into my upper jaw bone. Then springs were attached to a cemented appliance to pull my upper jaw bone into my head and rotate my jaw to the correct position. The retainer came out about 2 weeks ago (see prior post on that) and yesterday they removed all the screws, plates, bolts and pins. The only thing in my mouth now are some clear braces. YEAH!
I have not talked, in person, to my mom since her trip here for Easter. We email once in a long while and IM very infrequently. The day before my surgery she IM-ed me and wished me luck. I thought that was nice. So I took a deep breath, and for the first time in months, asked her "how are you?" Her response was "well I guess I'm okay." I just let it go and got off. Mom's days off are Wed - Thurs and surgery was yesterday (Thurs) but of course no offer to help. Yesterday, I asked my husband to call my Sister who was going to email my family to tell them how it all went. Mom never called here to check on me - but she did email back "Hi. Heard thru Sister that you got thru the surgery okay, and are sleeping now. So glad to hear every thing went okay. I was gonna call you later today, but guess I won't bother you. Hope to hear from you soon. Love and hugs, Mom" UGH. Last night I was online and she logged in and out of IM about 5 times but never contacted me. Now I have issues with IM sometimes booting me off, but she never does. So I think she just wanted me to know she was online, in hopes I would message her. Then this morning I emailed our church prayer group and update, and when I was online she logged in and out again and then finally IMed me. Asked how I was and then very quickly got off.
I try not to let her conduct bother me. I tell myself not to care. But it does hurt. I just want a real mom.
Luckily I do have some wonderful people in my life. A friend who I emailed about having the surgery sent me a message "Let me know when you want me to come pick up Daughter and give you a break." Co-workers sent me notes of encouragement and asked Husband to call with an update. When he did, they sent out an email to the office about my status. Another friend called to check on me yesterday and offered to come get Daughter. Still another friend stayed up late with me last night chatting on IM to get me through that last hour where the pain is coming back but I have to wait to take the next dose. This morning I sent updates to church and within 3 minutes had 4 notes of encouragement and 3 notes offering help. I really am blessed.
And now, I'm going to attempt a shower and lie back down. The doctor warned that the soreness and swelling would be worse the second day before improving and he was right. I look like a chipmunk. I think my stomach has tolerated all the meds it plans to on an empty stomach so I'm going to try to find some food as well. Thanks to all of you who have been so encouraging as well.
I have not talked, in person, to my mom since her trip here for Easter. We email once in a long while and IM very infrequently. The day before my surgery she IM-ed me and wished me luck. I thought that was nice. So I took a deep breath, and for the first time in months, asked her "how are you?" Her response was "well I guess I'm okay." I just let it go and got off. Mom's days off are Wed - Thurs and surgery was yesterday (Thurs) but of course no offer to help. Yesterday, I asked my husband to call my Sister who was going to email my family to tell them how it all went. Mom never called here to check on me - but she did email back "Hi. Heard thru Sister that you got thru the surgery okay, and are sleeping now. So glad to hear every thing went okay. I was gonna call you later today, but guess I won't bother you. Hope to hear from you soon. Love and hugs, Mom" UGH. Last night I was online and she logged in and out of IM about 5 times but never contacted me. Now I have issues with IM sometimes booting me off, but she never does. So I think she just wanted me to know she was online, in hopes I would message her. Then this morning I emailed our church prayer group and update, and when I was online she logged in and out again and then finally IMed me. Asked how I was and then very quickly got off.
I try not to let her conduct bother me. I tell myself not to care. But it does hurt. I just want a real mom.
Luckily I do have some wonderful people in my life. A friend who I emailed about having the surgery sent me a message "Let me know when you want me to come pick up Daughter and give you a break." Co-workers sent me notes of encouragement and asked Husband to call with an update. When he did, they sent out an email to the office about my status. Another friend called to check on me yesterday and offered to come get Daughter. Still another friend stayed up late with me last night chatting on IM to get me through that last hour where the pain is coming back but I have to wait to take the next dose. This morning I sent updates to church and within 3 minutes had 4 notes of encouragement and 3 notes offering help. I really am blessed.
And now, I'm going to attempt a shower and lie back down. The doctor warned that the soreness and swelling would be worse the second day before improving and he was right. I look like a chipmunk. I think my stomach has tolerated all the meds it plans to on an empty stomach so I'm going to try to find some food as well. Thanks to all of you who have been so encouraging as well.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Cutting Away the Pain
TRIGGER WARNING (**SI**)
An online pal wrote something on an SI forum that really struck me. Now some of you readers (you know who you are) are not going to like this post. But in an attempt to be gut-wrenchingly honest, I'm going to write it anyway. Besides this is my blog - if you don't like it, don't read it !
My online friend was asked by her T for a "good reason to stop Si-ing." Her response, "No. I don't have any good reason to not si....Cause I'm trying to peel back the shame I still feel about cutting."
I'm going to "borrow" part of her disclaimer before I post further too - DISCLAIMER - I do NOT encourage SI. If you don't now, please don't start. If you do and are thinking of stopping, please do. And if you can't handle reading about it, stop right now and come back tomorrow.
What she wrote is that, "Self-injury, while it may not be a healthy coping mechanism is a way to cope. A way I'm using right now. Self-injury is a fairly "normal" response to the extreme pain we've been through and are going through. What I'm going through. I'm not a freak. I'm not diseased. I'm just in pain. Self-injury is not the worst thing in the world I could do. These small cuts on my skin will heal. Quickly. Few of them, if any, will scar. There are a lot of things I could do that would be more damaging and more long lasting. Things that I could become a lot more addicted to, or that would leave lasting effects. I'll leave that one open. Use your imagination. Self-injury while damaging can also be done fairly safely. As long as I don't cut too deep, too close to major blood vessels, and keep the wounds clean. Which is all very reasonable for me, and I think most who SI. I'm not trying to kill myself by self-injury. If that's what I really wanted to do, I'd do it some other way. Common misconception that drives me mad. So you know what? I release my shame, I release my guilt, I release it all. Anyone who wants to tell me I'm bad or sick to cut, go ahead. If I'm think I'm sick, what do you think about the people who caused the real pain in my life?"
At the end, she said "that was freeing." And I found myself nodding. I imagine it was. Too many people want us to "get over SI-ing" just like we are supposed to "get over the abuse." I'm not talking about those that want us to be safe - I'm talking about those that make no effort to understand SI, think it's freaky and just want us to "knock it off already."
I am "supposed to" want to stop Si-ing. And I do....sometimes. It is "supposed to scare me." And it does.....sometimes. I am supposed to understand that "it is controlling me and not the other way around." I do understand that and agree with it.......sometimes. I am supposed to think Si-ing is "bad, not healthy, not productive." And I do.......sometimes.
I want to stop SI-ing when I go to put on shorts and stop. When I walk out of the shower and my husband stares at my leg. When I have to be accountable to people. But that's not stopping because ~I~ want to stop. That is stopping out of guilt and shame. And I've done (or not done) too many things out of guilt or shame. I don't want to go down that path again.
I want to stop SI-ing when it scares me. And when it seems to be controlling me, instead of me controlling it. I'm honest enough to admit that that happens sometimes. I want to quit when I get in the mood to be healthy and "normal." That's rare these days, but it does happen.
When I SI, I am not trying to kill myself or end up in the hospital for that matter. I'm not seeking attention. Actually I'd rather no one knew. I do have thoughts of suicide, but not when I'm SI-ing. They are separate and distinct feelings. I've never ended up in the hospital, needed stitches, gotten an infection, or anything else dangerous from SI-ing. In fact, at this point I have no scars (well, maybe a few from picking on my arms). I keep myself supplied with band-aids, antibacterial cream and mederma anti-scar lotion.
So why do I do it? Because it's healthier than most other alternatives. And believe me, I've tried quite a few. It works. It releases the guilt, the shame, the panic. It makes me calm. Helps me regain control and a sense of balance. Keeps me going when all else feels like it is crashing inside. And it is not hurting anyone else. Most people don't know. It doesn't affect me at work, church or with friends. Well, okay, aside from the having to be careful of attire issue.
The online poster said "I'm trying to peel back the shame I still feel about cutting." That hit home. But I'm conflicted about that too. On one hand, I want to throw caution to the wind and say "hey everybody, I cut to feel better. Screw you if you don't like it. It works for me." On the other hand, I want to just stop feeling shame about it, but continue to keep it quiet and hidden. On the other hand (yes, I know that gave me 3 hands), I do feel shame and I want to stop feeling that by stopping cutting.
I know that I need to want to do this for me, and not for anyone else. Some days I do. Other days I don't. I do know that I need to want to want to stop. I do want that. I do pray for the desire to want to stop. But in the meantime, I want people to know that I'm not crazy (well, I am but not for SI-ing.) I'm not dangerous. I'm not trying to kill myself. I'm not some raving lunatic. I'm just me......a messed up person who Si-s to cope.
An online pal wrote something on an SI forum that really struck me. Now some of you readers (you know who you are) are not going to like this post. But in an attempt to be gut-wrenchingly honest, I'm going to write it anyway. Besides this is my blog - if you don't like it, don't read it !
My online friend was asked by her T for a "good reason to stop Si-ing." Her response, "No. I don't have any good reason to not si....Cause I'm trying to peel back the shame I still feel about cutting."
I'm going to "borrow" part of her disclaimer before I post further too - DISCLAIMER - I do NOT encourage SI. If you don't now, please don't start. If you do and are thinking of stopping, please do. And if you can't handle reading about it, stop right now and come back tomorrow.
What she wrote is that, "Self-injury, while it may not be a healthy coping mechanism is a way to cope. A way I'm using right now. Self-injury is a fairly "normal" response to the extreme pain we've been through and are going through. What I'm going through. I'm not a freak. I'm not diseased. I'm just in pain. Self-injury is not the worst thing in the world I could do. These small cuts on my skin will heal. Quickly. Few of them, if any, will scar. There are a lot of things I could do that would be more damaging and more long lasting. Things that I could become a lot more addicted to, or that would leave lasting effects. I'll leave that one open. Use your imagination. Self-injury while damaging can also be done fairly safely. As long as I don't cut too deep, too close to major blood vessels, and keep the wounds clean. Which is all very reasonable for me, and I think most who SI. I'm not trying to kill myself by self-injury. If that's what I really wanted to do, I'd do it some other way. Common misconception that drives me mad. So you know what? I release my shame, I release my guilt, I release it all. Anyone who wants to tell me I'm bad or sick to cut, go ahead. If I'm think I'm sick, what do you think about the people who caused the real pain in my life?"
At the end, she said "that was freeing." And I found myself nodding. I imagine it was. Too many people want us to "get over SI-ing" just like we are supposed to "get over the abuse." I'm not talking about those that want us to be safe - I'm talking about those that make no effort to understand SI, think it's freaky and just want us to "knock it off already."
I am "supposed to" want to stop Si-ing. And I do....sometimes. It is "supposed to scare me." And it does.....sometimes. I am supposed to understand that "it is controlling me and not the other way around." I do understand that and agree with it.......sometimes. I am supposed to think Si-ing is "bad, not healthy, not productive." And I do.......sometimes.
I want to stop SI-ing when I go to put on shorts and stop. When I walk out of the shower and my husband stares at my leg. When I have to be accountable to people. But that's not stopping because ~I~ want to stop. That is stopping out of guilt and shame. And I've done (or not done) too many things out of guilt or shame. I don't want to go down that path again.
I want to stop SI-ing when it scares me. And when it seems to be controlling me, instead of me controlling it. I'm honest enough to admit that that happens sometimes. I want to quit when I get in the mood to be healthy and "normal." That's rare these days, but it does happen.
When I SI, I am not trying to kill myself or end up in the hospital for that matter. I'm not seeking attention. Actually I'd rather no one knew. I do have thoughts of suicide, but not when I'm SI-ing. They are separate and distinct feelings. I've never ended up in the hospital, needed stitches, gotten an infection, or anything else dangerous from SI-ing. In fact, at this point I have no scars (well, maybe a few from picking on my arms). I keep myself supplied with band-aids, antibacterial cream and mederma anti-scar lotion.
So why do I do it? Because it's healthier than most other alternatives. And believe me, I've tried quite a few. It works. It releases the guilt, the shame, the panic. It makes me calm. Helps me regain control and a sense of balance. Keeps me going when all else feels like it is crashing inside. And it is not hurting anyone else. Most people don't know. It doesn't affect me at work, church or with friends. Well, okay, aside from the having to be careful of attire issue.
The online poster said "I'm trying to peel back the shame I still feel about cutting." That hit home. But I'm conflicted about that too. On one hand, I want to throw caution to the wind and say "hey everybody, I cut to feel better. Screw you if you don't like it. It works for me." On the other hand, I want to just stop feeling shame about it, but continue to keep it quiet and hidden. On the other hand (yes, I know that gave me 3 hands), I do feel shame and I want to stop feeling that by stopping cutting.
I know that I need to want to do this for me, and not for anyone else. Some days I do. Other days I don't. I do know that I need to want to want to stop. I do want that. I do pray for the desire to want to stop. But in the meantime, I want people to know that I'm not crazy (well, I am but not for SI-ing.) I'm not dangerous. I'm not trying to kill myself. I'm not some raving lunatic. I'm just me......a messed up person who Si-s to cope.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
My Story - Background (part 1)
I realized today that I've never told "my story" - never told what happened - on here. I'm not sure I can, but perhaps I can get started.
The Cast of Characters
The Cast of Characters
- Mom - biological Mom
- Sister - 2 1/2 years younger than me
- Dad - biological Dad
- Toilet - he and his wife used to be friends with Mom & Dad. Then they divorced and he and my Mom started dating. Now they are married.
- TW - Toilet's Wife
- Step-Sibs - Toilet's three children (oldest girl is a week younger than me, middle girl is 6 months older than my sister, and the youngest is a boy about 5-6 years younger than me)
- DGF - Dad's Girl Friend (they later broke up)
- Step-Monster - Dad's latest Wife
The Background
I grew up in what I thought was a happy home. Dad got transferred with his job when I was 3-4 and we moved away from his family to another state - about 7 hours from Dad's family and 8 from Mom's family. We settled in there and I started school. Mom stayed home for many years and then went back to work once Sister and I were both in school. We did typical family activities, enjoyed camping, taking trips to the lake, boating, visiting family for long vacations, canoeing and attending softball and soccer games that I (and later, Sister) played in.
I don't remember when things first got bad. I know Dad always did have a problem with drinking too much on social occasions. He wasn't one to come home and get plastered. But at barbecues, parties or other events, he would often have a bit too much. Dad always did have a temper too. Although I remember more yelling than anything else. Mom seemed happy. She deferred to Dad a lot - making sure Sister and I followed suit. When she went back to work, Sister & I had to go to the neighbor's house before and after school.
It seemed as if we had to grow up kind of fast. I was forced to get up to an alarm clock with no prodding as early as kindergarten. We had the usual chores but had to start doing our own laundry and ironing about age 7. Mom and Dad expected us to handle our own problems. They weren't one to call up a teacher and complain or protest to a coach about poor treatment.
The Separation & Divorce
It is so much easier to look back with hindsight. The things I dismissed as just "odd" now make more sense. Toilet and his Wife (TW) were friends of my parents. Their three children were similar ages as Sister and I. Dad and Toilet both rode motorcycles. Through the woods, they lived less than 1 mile away. We often hung out at the other's houses. TW often seemed distant. Mom and Toilet always got along fairly well.
One summer, Sister and I were forced to go to summer camp. It was a day camp that we had attended in the past. Mom wasn't one for "motherly protection" so I found it odd that she wanted to accompany Sister and I as we rode our bikes to camp. I had ridden my bike to and from that school all school year long. We soon began a pattern of picking up Step-sibs (although they weren't quite step-sibs yet). Sometimes TW would come too. In the evenings, we would meet again to bike ride.
One time Mom took Sister and I to the beach. Toilet came too, with his children. I found it odd that it was just he and Mom but didn't think about it too much. This was around the time that the fighting between Mom and Dad increased.
(Disclaimer - time lines get a bit blurry for me).
Sometime in here, Mom had a stuffed bear on her dresser that she said was from "a friend." I remember finding that really odd. It was Valentine's Day I think. After that the fighting between Mom and Toilet got worse. One fight occured after Sister and I were in bed. I remember walking out front to the yard and finding Mom and Toilet sitting very close. Later I dragged my mattress into my Sister's room and slept on her floor - with a softball bat.
I always remember being afraid of my father. But I can't pinpoint a specific event as to why. There are events that would have caused me to be afraid, but I remember being afraid before those events occurred. I can't pinpoint when the fear started.
There was never a question that Sister and I would go live with Mom. My parents sat Sister and I down and explained they were divorcing. We were quite happy actually. My best friend's parents had divorced (she moved) and my other friend had moved. So I didn't even mind switching schools. Dad moved out. That same night Toilet came over. He kissed Mom goodbye, on the lips, when he left. So Mom decided to let us know they were "dating." That confused me. Dad's anger got worse. Looking back, I'm not sure which came first. His increasing anger or Mom/Toilet's relationship. In any event, it made for a vicious cycle.
Sister and I were sent to my grandmother's soon thereafter for a two week stay. Toilet and Mom drove halfway and met my grandparents. It was their first time meeting Toilet. It was the first time we'd stayed with Mom's parents for an entire week. It was the summer before 6th grade. I started bleeding (my first period) when I was up there. I was SO embarrassed. I finally told my grandmother who "checked to make sure" and then had me call my mother. They blew it off and said I was too young - I must have "injured" myself or something. I felt like a fraud. And ashamed.
When we got "home," we found out we had moved into an apartment. I think maybe we knew on the drive home or something. I can't really remember. I know Sister and I decided that rather than share a room with Step-sibs, we would share with each other. We ended up with bunk beds in a tiny room. Step-sibs got a huge room even though they were only there on alternating weekends. The explanation was that there were 3 of them. We also discovered that Toilet was going to live with us. And that our childhood pets, Shasta (the dog) and Spooky (the cat) had "gone away." Mom had taken them to the pound. She said that "maybe" Spooky would get adopted but Shasta was too old and probably was put to sleep. They were both about 12 years old and had been around since before I was born. Actually they were gifts - Mom gave Dad the cat and Dad gave Mom the dog as wedding presents or something like that. Shasta was a pure-bred Samoyed.
In one short summer, I lost an intact family, my childhood home, my dog and my cat. I lost everything I had ever known as secure. I gained ...well Mom gained a new boyfriend who would become my abuser. But that's another story for another day.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Why can't I get a Timetable?
I have a little devotional calendar. When I come in on Monday mornings, I try to start the week out right by not only reading today's message, but catching up on the weekend's readings too. Over the weekend, on reading was from I John 4:4 "God's Spirit who is in you, is greater than the devil, who is in the world." It goes on to say "To the first century church in Smyrna, Christ said, 'Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. I tell you, the devil will put some of you in prison to test you, and you will suffer for ten days. But be faithful, even if you have to die, and I will give you the crown of live"(Revelation 2:10). Christ informs the church of the ...duration...the reason...and the outcome of the persecution. In other words, Jesus uses Satan to fortify his church.
I had to go read the entire chapter of Revelation, just to see what was going on. It is a series of paragraphs written to different churches of the time. Praising some, warning some and condemning some. I'm skipping the last sentence of the devotion about "using Satan to fortify his church" because I'm not in the right frame of mind to deal with it right now (I think it would piss me off). What really caught my attention was the "suffer for ten days" section.
Where is my letter about how long I'm going to suffer? How come the Church in Smyrna was told exactly how long they were to suffer? When is my time going to be over? I want an answer. If I knew it was a short time, I could muster up enough energy to keep going. If it were a long time, I could give up now and quit this journey. I am afraid that is why God hasn't told me how long -- because He knows it is a LONG time and that I would give up.
I had to go read the entire chapter of Revelation, just to see what was going on. It is a series of paragraphs written to different churches of the time. Praising some, warning some and condemning some. I'm skipping the last sentence of the devotion about "using Satan to fortify his church" because I'm not in the right frame of mind to deal with it right now (I think it would piss me off). What really caught my attention was the "suffer for ten days" section.
Where is my letter about how long I'm going to suffer? How come the Church in Smyrna was told exactly how long they were to suffer? When is my time going to be over? I want an answer. If I knew it was a short time, I could muster up enough energy to keep going. If it were a long time, I could give up now and quit this journey. I am afraid that is why God hasn't told me how long -- because He knows it is a LONG time and that I would give up.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Inner Turmoil
I don't know what is going on. I alternate between rage and sadness. I am so conflicted inside. I'm pushing everyone away and I know it, but can't do anything to stop it. Life is out of control. There are too many issues going on right now and I can't juggle all my responsibilities. I feel like I'm doing nothing right.
Those that care try to offer advice. They try to help. But everyone has different answers. I know that I am old enough and mature enough that I ought to be an adult about all of this. Take a deep breath and handle it. But I can't. I don't think people understand that I'm trying my best and my best is, unfortunately, not good enough for anyone right now. I feel like a failure. Like I'm disappointing everyone and not living up to anyone's expectations. I'm afraid everyone is going to leave.
I get mad too. Mad at myself mostly. For not being strong enough to handle this. For taking so long to deal with it. For not getting over it. But I get mad at others too - for not giving me time. For expecting too much out of me. For not understanding that I'm trying my best.
I don't know what to do anymore. Last weekend, when I took that medicine, I caught a glimpse of what things could be like. I loved it. But now I alternate between finding hope in last weekend - hope that if I keep working, it can be like that longer; and regret - regret that I caught a glimpse of something that I can't get back.
I feel like people are getting tired of dealing with me. I know my husband is at the end of his rope. He thought last weekend was the end. I've stopped telling everyone how I'm feeling because I think they are tired of hearing about it. I know I'm tired of it. I feel so alone. And I know that this, too, is my fault. Because I don't let anyone in. And because I don't ever completely deal with anything. It's the same damn things over and over and over again. So I try to deal with it all myself, and can't, and that's when I SI.
Those that care try to offer advice. They try to help. But everyone has different answers. I know that I am old enough and mature enough that I ought to be an adult about all of this. Take a deep breath and handle it. But I can't. I don't think people understand that I'm trying my best and my best is, unfortunately, not good enough for anyone right now. I feel like a failure. Like I'm disappointing everyone and not living up to anyone's expectations. I'm afraid everyone is going to leave.
I get mad too. Mad at myself mostly. For not being strong enough to handle this. For taking so long to deal with it. For not getting over it. But I get mad at others too - for not giving me time. For expecting too much out of me. For not understanding that I'm trying my best.
I don't know what to do anymore. Last weekend, when I took that medicine, I caught a glimpse of what things could be like. I loved it. But now I alternate between finding hope in last weekend - hope that if I keep working, it can be like that longer; and regret - regret that I caught a glimpse of something that I can't get back.
I feel like people are getting tired of dealing with me. I know my husband is at the end of his rope. He thought last weekend was the end. I've stopped telling everyone how I'm feeling because I think they are tired of hearing about it. I know I'm tired of it. I feel so alone. And I know that this, too, is my fault. Because I don't let anyone in. And because I don't ever completely deal with anything. It's the same damn things over and over and over again. So I try to deal with it all myself, and can't, and that's when I SI.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Wanted - A Real Mother - now accepting applications
I am overwhelmed, frustrated and in pain. The sadness/depression is back, as is the anxiety. I am overwhelmed with all that I have to do. On the plus side, our camping trip for next weekend is cancelled. On the downside, that is good only because I will probably be recovering from jaw surgery - again. My jaw is still extremely sore, with lightening bolts of pain every time the screws are touched. I am feeling much like I did last week before the trileptal - only not as intense or bad. The urge to SI is back - although I've resisted thus far. I still can't eat certain foods, yet despite the lack of food, am continuing to gain weight.
I tried lightening some of my burden by leaning on my husband. He has been fabulous about taking on more of the housework over the last few weeks. Until this weekend, he had been great about helping out more with our daughter too. I think his patience is shot. He appeared less than thrilled when I brought her back home after being out and about with her for four hours, and told him I was off to take a break/nap. His solution is to rant and rave at the doctors. Don't they know what they are doing? I thought you might not need braces. What do you mean the medication isn't working as well as before? What do you mean you are still having panic attacks? Call the doctor. Call this person. Have you done this yet? Why don't you do this or handle it this way. You need to be more firm.
AGH. I would really like to have a real mother at this moment. Someone to call up and say "I've had it." Someone who would come tuck me into bed for a nap, call all my doctors, get answers for me, coordinate among everyone and everything. Give me a break for awhile. Find me answers. Solve all the loose ends. Answer all the questions - why is my thyroid level going up? Why am I continuing to gain weight when I'm not eating as much? Is caffeine really causing the panic or exacerbating it? What is the right dose? Can I, or can't I, get pregnant on this? How long do I need to be on it? Is my jaw infected or is the screws? Can I take the screws out or do they need to stay in? Can we just tighten them or do they have to be replaced? Is this jitteriness caused by the interaction between the pain meds and the trileptal? Why am I depressed, anxious, unfocused in the first place? When should I schedule the jaw screw removal? What about the next thyroid test? Don't forget you have to work and earn a living too. Oh and balance the checkbook, figure out where Aflac went wrong, settle your accident case - after you figure out if your lack of focus might be somewhat a result of your fall. And live life in general, be a good mom, good wife and good employee.
I want a real mother who will take on some of that for me - all that she can. Reassure me it will be all right. Hold me as I cry from exhaustion and the sheer feeling of being overwhelmed. Not push me to add anything else to my plate. And not get mad or be disappointed when I quit and just can't do it anymore. Any takers? Do you think there is such a job description? Think I can find anyone to hire?
I tried lightening some of my burden by leaning on my husband. He has been fabulous about taking on more of the housework over the last few weeks. Until this weekend, he had been great about helping out more with our daughter too. I think his patience is shot. He appeared less than thrilled when I brought her back home after being out and about with her for four hours, and told him I was off to take a break/nap. His solution is to rant and rave at the doctors. Don't they know what they are doing? I thought you might not need braces. What do you mean the medication isn't working as well as before? What do you mean you are still having panic attacks? Call the doctor. Call this person. Have you done this yet? Why don't you do this or handle it this way. You need to be more firm.
AGH. I would really like to have a real mother at this moment. Someone to call up and say "I've had it." Someone who would come tuck me into bed for a nap, call all my doctors, get answers for me, coordinate among everyone and everything. Give me a break for awhile. Find me answers. Solve all the loose ends. Answer all the questions - why is my thyroid level going up? Why am I continuing to gain weight when I'm not eating as much? Is caffeine really causing the panic or exacerbating it? What is the right dose? Can I, or can't I, get pregnant on this? How long do I need to be on it? Is my jaw infected or is the screws? Can I take the screws out or do they need to stay in? Can we just tighten them or do they have to be replaced? Is this jitteriness caused by the interaction between the pain meds and the trileptal? Why am I depressed, anxious, unfocused in the first place? When should I schedule the jaw screw removal? What about the next thyroid test? Don't forget you have to work and earn a living too. Oh and balance the checkbook, figure out where Aflac went wrong, settle your accident case - after you figure out if your lack of focus might be somewhat a result of your fall. And live life in general, be a good mom, good wife and good employee.
I want a real mother who will take on some of that for me - all that she can. Reassure me it will be all right. Hold me as I cry from exhaustion and the sheer feeling of being overwhelmed. Not push me to add anything else to my plate. And not get mad or be disappointed when I quit and just can't do it anymore. Any takers? Do you think there is such a job description? Think I can find anyone to hire?
Friday, May 4, 2007
Damnittoallhell- 3rd post of the day
DAMNITTOALLHELL. The new asst that was supposed to start on Monday, just received an "irresistible offer" from her current employer. It is 2:45 here on Friday. She just called to say she isn't coming. Never mind that I spent all day yesterday cleaning out her office; that our office mgr spent hours preparing her paperwork; that our computer tech spent hours getting the computer set up; or that I dictated several things for her to start on. Never mind that our part time typist just left so now I am going to have to type up all the stuff I dictated. AGH. I HATE THIS. I can not function like this much longer. Back to the damn interview drawing board.
ONIF - Oh No It's Friday
Instead of TGIF, I'm having a ONIF (Oh No It's Friday) day. Today marks one week since I last cut. One week since I've been on this new medication. In one week I've gone from an 8 (on a 1-8 scale) to a 2 on average anxiety; from an 8 to a 1 on average depression; and from a daily average of 3-4 to a daily average of 1 panic attack. So I should be happy and celebrating, right?
I'm not sure what is the cause - low blood sugar? The trileptal? The pain meds I'm on? The pain itself? The combo of pain meds, xanax and trileptal? Or just me being me? But in any event, I feel jittery today. Unlike before where I had panic attack thoughts but no physical symptoms, today I have panic attack symptoms but no thoughts. I think I prefer the former. Because this kind of sucks. I feel anxious. My fingers are tingly and my arms feel real heavy. I feel off balance and a bit disoriented and dizzy. My head is spinning. I feel sleepy but have been having trouble falling asleep at night. I am dissociating (having that floaty, out of body, looking in feeling) more often. I'm not focusing at work today. Can't get up enough energy to care either.
I'm a bit concerned...........okay, I'll be honest -- I'm scared. I've put an awful lot of hope in these meds. It seemed like THE ANSWER I've been searching for. Pop a pill and voila - I am cured. I was apprehensive to say out loud how good I was feeling the first few days, for fear of jinxing it. But I did finally admit it to myself and others. Now, though, I'm feeling odd again. I'm scared to think too hard about the cause(s) of feeling bad. Far easier to blame it on the jaw pain or pain meds. I'm scared to think that the good feeling might have been a placebo affect or just my wanting so hard for the meds to work, that I "made" them work for awhile. Scared that the meds aren't the "cure" I imagined or hoped. Scared to admit that this jittery/anxious feeling might actually be a panic attack, despite the meds. Scared to admit that the SI urges are stronger today and worried about what this weekend will hold as far as that is concerned.
I think I need someone to slap me upside the head (avoid the jaw please!) and tell me to buck up and get over myself. To hang in there and look at the positive and to pull myself up by my bootstraps and keep moving. Any takers?
I'm not sure what is the cause - low blood sugar? The trileptal? The pain meds I'm on? The pain itself? The combo of pain meds, xanax and trileptal? Or just me being me? But in any event, I feel jittery today. Unlike before where I had panic attack thoughts but no physical symptoms, today I have panic attack symptoms but no thoughts. I think I prefer the former. Because this kind of sucks. I feel anxious. My fingers are tingly and my arms feel real heavy. I feel off balance and a bit disoriented and dizzy. My head is spinning. I feel sleepy but have been having trouble falling asleep at night. I am dissociating (having that floaty, out of body, looking in feeling) more often. I'm not focusing at work today. Can't get up enough energy to care either.
I'm a bit concerned...........okay, I'll be honest -- I'm scared. I've put an awful lot of hope in these meds. It seemed like THE ANSWER I've been searching for. Pop a pill and voila - I am cured. I was apprehensive to say out loud how good I was feeling the first few days, for fear of jinxing it. But I did finally admit it to myself and others. Now, though, I'm feeling odd again. I'm scared to think too hard about the cause(s) of feeling bad. Far easier to blame it on the jaw pain or pain meds. I'm scared to think that the good feeling might have been a placebo affect or just my wanting so hard for the meds to work, that I "made" them work for awhile. Scared that the meds aren't the "cure" I imagined or hoped. Scared to admit that this jittery/anxious feeling might actually be a panic attack, despite the meds. Scared to admit that the SI urges are stronger today and worried about what this weekend will hold as far as that is concerned.
I think I need someone to slap me upside the head (avoid the jaw please!) and tell me to buck up and get over myself. To hang in there and look at the positive and to pull myself up by my bootstraps and keep moving. Any takers?
Weird Dream
The fact that I dreamt at all is odd. The fact that I remembered it is even more odd. With all the meds, I typically pass out and don't remember much. But this one stuck with me. I think I may know what prompted it. Someone yesterday online mentioned her sister finding her journal and reading it. Then her sister told this girl's parents about the abuse. The poster was upset at her parent's reaction (or lack of one in her case).
In my dream, I was a teenager. Living with Mom and Toilet. Visiting with Dad, only he was married to his current wife (unlike real life where that hadn't happened yet). My sister had read my journal and told my Dad about it. They were all coming over to confront me. I knew there was going to be a huge fight. I was afraid everyone was going to be mad at me. Everyone showed up. It was my sister, Mom, Dad and Dad's wife. Not sure where Toilet went. Everyone was yelling at me. Yelling at me for the abuse, for the SI, for having sex, for everything. To them, it was all my fault. Then I remember curling up on the couch and knowing they were watching my every move. To make sure I didn't do anything else.
So what does it mean? Some of it is not based in reality. For instance, there is no way that my Mom and Dad would ever have been in the same room together. Not even to try to protect my Sister or I, or deal with a problem involving us. If all of them did gather in the same room, there would be a fight, but probably with each other. There is no way my sister would have told my Dad about what was written in my journal. And in real life I knew better than to write anything detailed about what happened. The few poems and things I did write down were very well hidden.
Some of it is realistic. When Mom found out about the abuse, Mom did blame me. When I attempted suicide, she yelled at me. If she had ever found out about the SI, she would have yelled. I know she threatened to punish my sister if she ever caught my sister doing it (SI) again. Mom didn't care about the pre-marital sex - just didn't want me getting pregnant. And when I did get pregnant, at age 15, she was totally pissed off about that. Not out of concern for me, but out of concern for herself. It was all about her (what will people thing about me? Your dad is going to blame me? How will I pay for this? You don't think I'm going to raise this child do you?)
Dad did go through my room and stuff one time. Luckily I didn't leave much at his house. Later he said it was because he was concerned I was on drugs or something given my total change in personality. (so at least he observed a change in me, although he didn't do anything about it). His true girlfriend at the time, told me years later, that she suspected sexual abuse but my dad refused to believe it. In any event, Dad did discover a letter to my boyfriend and thus learned I was having sex. Again, not mad about that. Just lectured me on not getting pregnant. Of course when your parents are both living with people they are not married too, their lectures about sex outside of marriage don't carry much weight!
When Dad did learn of the abuse, he was pissed off at me for continuing to live there. Pissed off that I "chose" Toilet to walk me down the aisle instead of him. In real life, my Dad confronted my boyfriend and yelled at him for all our "inappropriate" activities, but Dad just ignored Toilet and his "inapproptriate activities." Turned a blind eye to those because Dad didn't want to deal with it.
The part of my dream where I'm curled up on the couch with everyone watching is realistic. In my dream, I was alone on the couch. And they were watching me to make sure I didn't "do anything stupid." In real life, I would have been on the couch alone - not with anyone sitting by me or supporting me. They would have been watching me, but not for my protection. It would have been to be sure I didn't say anything I wasn't supposed to, didn't embarrass them, didn't make a scene, and didn't involve any professionals (because then I might inadvertently say something). I always wondered why my mom didn't take us to the doctor or a counselor much - especially when I attempted suicide. Now I know - she was afraid I might actually talk about how life really was and that might cause her to be forced to defend her choices/actions.
So in my dream, and in real life, the themes are the same. Everything is my fault. I'm the one to blame. I chose the abuser. I allowed it to happen. I can definitely see progress in myself - I don't just accept the blame and fault any more. I can't say that I've let it go entirely, but it's not controlling my life anymore. I also feel more anger and sadness toward my parents. Which is a healthy thing, I believe.
In my dream, I was a teenager. Living with Mom and Toilet. Visiting with Dad, only he was married to his current wife (unlike real life where that hadn't happened yet). My sister had read my journal and told my Dad about it. They were all coming over to confront me. I knew there was going to be a huge fight. I was afraid everyone was going to be mad at me. Everyone showed up. It was my sister, Mom, Dad and Dad's wife. Not sure where Toilet went. Everyone was yelling at me. Yelling at me for the abuse, for the SI, for having sex, for everything. To them, it was all my fault. Then I remember curling up on the couch and knowing they were watching my every move. To make sure I didn't do anything else.
So what does it mean? Some of it is not based in reality. For instance, there is no way that my Mom and Dad would ever have been in the same room together. Not even to try to protect my Sister or I, or deal with a problem involving us. If all of them did gather in the same room, there would be a fight, but probably with each other. There is no way my sister would have told my Dad about what was written in my journal. And in real life I knew better than to write anything detailed about what happened. The few poems and things I did write down were very well hidden.
Some of it is realistic. When Mom found out about the abuse, Mom did blame me. When I attempted suicide, she yelled at me. If she had ever found out about the SI, she would have yelled. I know she threatened to punish my sister if she ever caught my sister doing it (SI) again. Mom didn't care about the pre-marital sex - just didn't want me getting pregnant. And when I did get pregnant, at age 15, she was totally pissed off about that. Not out of concern for me, but out of concern for herself. It was all about her (what will people thing about me? Your dad is going to blame me? How will I pay for this? You don't think I'm going to raise this child do you?)
Dad did go through my room and stuff one time. Luckily I didn't leave much at his house. Later he said it was because he was concerned I was on drugs or something given my total change in personality. (so at least he observed a change in me, although he didn't do anything about it). His true girlfriend at the time, told me years later, that she suspected sexual abuse but my dad refused to believe it. In any event, Dad did discover a letter to my boyfriend and thus learned I was having sex. Again, not mad about that. Just lectured me on not getting pregnant. Of course when your parents are both living with people they are not married too, their lectures about sex outside of marriage don't carry much weight!
When Dad did learn of the abuse, he was pissed off at me for continuing to live there. Pissed off that I "chose" Toilet to walk me down the aisle instead of him. In real life, my Dad confronted my boyfriend and yelled at him for all our "inappropriate" activities, but Dad just ignored Toilet and his "inapproptriate activities." Turned a blind eye to those because Dad didn't want to deal with it.
The part of my dream where I'm curled up on the couch with everyone watching is realistic. In my dream, I was alone on the couch. And they were watching me to make sure I didn't "do anything stupid." In real life, I would have been on the couch alone - not with anyone sitting by me or supporting me. They would have been watching me, but not for my protection. It would have been to be sure I didn't say anything I wasn't supposed to, didn't embarrass them, didn't make a scene, and didn't involve any professionals (because then I might inadvertently say something). I always wondered why my mom didn't take us to the doctor or a counselor much - especially when I attempted suicide. Now I know - she was afraid I might actually talk about how life really was and that might cause her to be forced to defend her choices/actions.
So in my dream, and in real life, the themes are the same. Everything is my fault. I'm the one to blame. I chose the abuser. I allowed it to happen. I can definitely see progress in myself - I don't just accept the blame and fault any more. I can't say that I've let it go entirely, but it's not controlling my life anymore. I also feel more anger and sadness toward my parents. Which is a healthy thing, I believe.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Update
My head has been found and has reattached itself. It is still loopy and keeps bobbing all around, but that is okay. I went to the jaw surgeon and either there is an infection or the screws are loose and triggering some nerve pain. So I'm on antibiotics. And some pain meds. If I'm better by my ortho appt on Monday, we'll know it was an infection. Given that this is day 3 of antibiotics and I'm still popping pain pills every 4 hours, I'm beginning to doubt it was an infection. On Monday, the ortho will determine if we need the screws in place any more. If no, then they come out quickly. If yes, then the jaw surgeon will see if he can tighten them (probably not) or he'll have to remove and replace them (ouch).
Have you seen the cell phone commercials where the person is surrounded by "their people"? That's me. Surrounded by teams of doctors. With my jaw, I have the jaw surgeon and his partner, my orthodontist and his partner, my TMJ doctor, and my dentist. Oh and some consulting by the School of Dentistry. With my panic/anxiety, I have my counselor, my primary care physician, my ob/gyn and the doctor my counselor is consulting with that I've never met. I should feel in good hands, right? I feel overwhelmed a bit. It's nice having all these people interested in helping. But I do wish they'd all get on the same page with answers. Course, what should I expect? It's not as if I gathered more than 2 attorneys in a room I'd get a single answer. Why should I expect more from any other profession? I guess now I have more respect for the position my clients are in when I give them all their options and say "PICK ONE" and they look at me and say "help, you pick one for me!"
I'm too loopy to come up with some profound post for the day. But for a general update, I'll stick with life is good. Daughter is all better. Hubbie and I have not gotten it. Husband is awesome - has totally chipped in and is carrying far more than his fair share of household,etc burden. New medication is still doing a great job of keeping panic away. Settled/continued my trial so I have all day to catch up. New assistant starts Monday. And I have no big plans for the weekend, so I can relax and enjoy things. Overall - life is good.
Have you seen the cell phone commercials where the person is surrounded by "their people"? That's me. Surrounded by teams of doctors. With my jaw, I have the jaw surgeon and his partner, my orthodontist and his partner, my TMJ doctor, and my dentist. Oh and some consulting by the School of Dentistry. With my panic/anxiety, I have my counselor, my primary care physician, my ob/gyn and the doctor my counselor is consulting with that I've never met. I should feel in good hands, right? I feel overwhelmed a bit. It's nice having all these people interested in helping. But I do wish they'd all get on the same page with answers. Course, what should I expect? It's not as if I gathered more than 2 attorneys in a room I'd get a single answer. Why should I expect more from any other profession? I guess now I have more respect for the position my clients are in when I give them all their options and say "PICK ONE" and they look at me and say "help, you pick one for me!"
I'm too loopy to come up with some profound post for the day. But for a general update, I'll stick with life is good. Daughter is all better. Hubbie and I have not gotten it. Husband is awesome - has totally chipped in and is carrying far more than his fair share of household,etc burden. New medication is still doing a great job of keeping panic away. Settled/continued my trial so I have all day to catch up. New assistant starts Monday. And I have no big plans for the weekend, so I can relax and enjoy things. Overall - life is good.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Watch out for Rolling Head
WATCH OUT for the rolling head. It's mine. You can keep it for now. When I was growing up my mom would get headaches and say "I wish I could just cut my head off and put it to bed." I thought it was a funny saying at the time. Today I understand completely what she means.
I have an infection in my jaw/mouth. I'm sure it's from the procedure they did last Wednesday. I've felt this pain once before following my wisdom teeth being removed. It is pure agony. Labor was easier (and the drugs were better). I scrounged and found all the leftover pain meds from when the inserted the jaw anchor screws. Took two last night, plus a xanax, and was finally able to sleep. I saved the other one for today - after I drove myself to work. I called the doctor this morning and the kind nurse that answered the phone said "sure thing we'll get you in first thing tomorrow." I told her to get me in today or I was calling the orthodontist, and if he couldn't see me, then calling the dentist, and if he couldn't see me, going to the ER, and if they couldn't see me, hitting the street corner for some drug to make this stop. I think she got the point, because she put me on hold and called the doctor at home. He is in an office in another town (I offered to drive there) and is having his partner see me at 1:30 today.
So 4 hours to go. I'm at work because I have a trial tomorrow. I have never ever cancelled a trial for an illness in the 7 years I've been practicing. But it may happen this week.
On the positive side - NO Panic attacks. Even with all this pain and stress. Which is totally phenomenal. I did take a xanax last night, but only because the pain meds weren't making me sleepy enough and I needed to get some sleep.
So, back to my head -- if you see it rolling by, just keep it until 1:30 when I need it to go to this appointment.
I have an infection in my jaw/mouth. I'm sure it's from the procedure they did last Wednesday. I've felt this pain once before following my wisdom teeth being removed. It is pure agony. Labor was easier (and the drugs were better). I scrounged and found all the leftover pain meds from when the inserted the jaw anchor screws. Took two last night, plus a xanax, and was finally able to sleep. I saved the other one for today - after I drove myself to work. I called the doctor this morning and the kind nurse that answered the phone said "sure thing we'll get you in first thing tomorrow." I told her to get me in today or I was calling the orthodontist, and if he couldn't see me, then calling the dentist, and if he couldn't see me, going to the ER, and if they couldn't see me, hitting the street corner for some drug to make this stop. I think she got the point, because she put me on hold and called the doctor at home. He is in an office in another town (I offered to drive there) and is having his partner see me at 1:30 today.
So 4 hours to go. I'm at work because I have a trial tomorrow. I have never ever cancelled a trial for an illness in the 7 years I've been practicing. But it may happen this week.
On the positive side - NO Panic attacks. Even with all this pain and stress. Which is totally phenomenal. I did take a xanax last night, but only because the pain meds weren't making me sleepy enough and I needed to get some sleep.
So, back to my head -- if you see it rolling by, just keep it until 1:30 when I need it to go to this appointment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
