She lost me on the pain piece, though I guess it’s true also. I just don’t ever remember feeling pain. I would stop when the pain came. But the rest of it, she’s pretty right on… I envy her for being able to write it so well, when I struggle to find the words to convey exactly what it is that I feel and endure…
You will hold it in your hands, and you will hate yourself. You will hate yourself because you promised, you swore, not only to yourself but to a million other people, that it wouldn’t happen again. It was over. You’re strong. You’re better. You’re cured. What the fuck does “cured” mean anyway, when you have an illness that doesn’t even have a distinct list of symptoms, let alone a god damn cure? An illness that sneaks up and bites you in the night when you sleep; you go to bed just fine and you wake up in the throws of some kind of emotional throw down or melt down and it doesn’t matter how much you want it to go away, it won’t because it’s as ingrained in you as your name, your date of birth, your best friend.
I’ve been dealing with/thinking about/discovering more dissociation, and different ways I do it these last few weeks. Yesterday was the most pronounced in terms of difference… It’s weird. I need to process it. I need to figure out how it all fits, what’s it’s purpose? what do I do next? … I’m at a loss. I really miss having my old therapist, who was more experienced in all of this. I miss her availability. I don’t want to dismiss D, but I can’t help but compare him to her… I was finally getting somewhere, and I chose to move (was forced to?)… I know there is a purpose to all this. I know I need to learn something, but I don’t know if I want to learn it this way…
Trauma recovery is a tricky thing. Just as you get going, things get thrown in your path. You move forward cautiously, then realize you reach a plateau. But it’s a comfortable place, one you think you can work from… And suddenly everything changes and you are dealt a new hand to have to play…
I’m trying to be ok with a comment a friend made on fb, as she has every right to be upset by my comment… but it’s hard. A few days ago I had been having a really rough week, and I was tired of being told to turn to religion. My defenses were down and I was raw. The last straw was when a friend of my wife’s commented for the umpteenth time to “Let go & let god” and that everything happens for a reason, and that I should “pray” about my situation… That last sentiment triggered such a deep hurt and rejection, I lost all cool and composure. I ranted long and hard about how a belief in a god does not make everything better… I was rude and disrespectful and cursed a lot… I can understand that people would be hurt, but I didn’t care. I was tired and hurt myself… My wife said that she would take it down in the morning (it was on a status she had put up) because she did not want her mom to be mad at me for not only cursing, but putting religion down… I was fine with it. I got out my rant and could care less if it was up any longer than that… She never did take it down. I’m not quite sure why, maybe it was the strong responses in both directions about what I said, maybe she just forgot and then thought it was up for that long, might as well leave it… whatever. It is still there. Anyway, a friend of mine read it and was very insulted and hurt by it. She made a comment to that effect on her page, but without mentioning who the comment was directed to. She was very respectful and did a great job communicating her displeasure with my stance (and insults) on something she holds dear.
I shouldn’t be hurt or bothered by this. I shouldn’t feel the way I do about it. But then why can’t I shake it?
I am triggered by religion and inaction in the name of religion because of my experience with one individual, and later with a “spiritual” experience… The first person I ever confided in about the abuse and violence going on at home (and my resulting depression and hopelessness) simply told me to “Just pray about it, and god will help you out”… I had just told her that I feared for my mom’s life, I felt suicidal, and was terrified to be home every day of my life, and she told me to pray about it… That was such a let-down. Everywhere they encourage you to tell someone when things like this are going on, and when I did, I was offered no help. It was a guidance counselor at school mind you, a mandated reporter even back then (she left the school the following year and was replaced by a wonderful woman who helped me so much, and i am now privileged to call her my friend)… I felt so abandoned and lost in that moment. My hate for religion grew from there. The ignorance and uncaring she displayed made me feel totally alone. To this day I have trouble asking for help, and believing that anyone with any power to do something will actually do anything to help (well, that and the countless times the police were called to diffuse a situation at home…). I don’t trust easily, so when I went to her with that information, my little bit of trust crumbled to dust in the moment of her indifference…
I know most people today have no clue why I feel so strongly against any organized religion. I haven’t told many people. I definitely keep my mental health and abuse history off of fb (it is not the place for things like that)… I know this friend has no idea why I said what I did, she is just insulted by it… I should be able to take that at face value and move on, as I know I was rude with it… but it just feeds my rejection and feelings of neglect from so long ago. And now I want to be stubborn and not apologize or remove it because it triggered my rebellious side, and I want to stomp my feet and scream that I am right, but only because I don’t want to tell why I really feel that way. I don’t want to spill that my 1)abuse 2)was not stopped by someone who was supposed to help, but 3)instead thought I should turn to “god” to better my situation. I don’t want to explain myself, I just want to be mad about it, because I have a right to be mad. I know I should have done it more tactfully, but I was hurt… All I ever do is apologize for holding the hurt in, until it gets too much and I burst. I play nice and respectful and pleasant, and no one gets it. They keep at it… They insist that I am wrong and stupid and should “give my life to god”, but they don’t hear my protests when I am nice. They don’t respect my pleas to stop hitting me over the head with that. So I snap, and I revert to being 3 and screaming whatever I want, however I need to, in order to be heard.
I don’t like hurting people. I don’t like insulting them or their beliefs. But I can’t bring myself to apologize for my rant, or to back-track and say it nicer just to appease everyone. But that too is an internal conflict. The part of me that strives to please everyone all the time and be pc and nice really wants to take down the comment and apologize for insulting everyone. The 3 year old in me wants to sit there, stick my tongue out and say “Good!” (now you can be as hurt as I was)… It makes me want to cut and cry and break things. It makes me want to hide and delete fb all together… It makes me hate myself for being hurtful… but it makes me feel good too. And that scares me. I never want to be someone who hurts others because she is hurt… I don’t want to be my dad… I never want to be my dad…
I’m totally wiped. My old therapist returned my call and we were able to talk briefly. This was on my way to see my new therapist… Without really thinking, I ended up driving past where my aunt was laid to rest… I haven’t been by there in 20 years… holy cow! Talk about being thrown back into the past. I was suddenly emotionally back at the time of her death… I don’t know what kept me from mentioning it to Dr C since we were on the phone when it happened. I just slipped back. I have no idea what it was we talked about before we hung up. I’m not quite sure how I was able to continue driving. After a few stops, I was at D’s office. I was very separate from myself, only I was not dissociative in any way I remember ever being before. I struggled to explain it to him. I was fidgeting with a toy, but… it felt like there was something else taking control of that piece… only I was aware I was doing it, aware that I was “supposed” to be doing it, but it wasn’t really under my conscious control. I don’t know how to explain it accurately. There was a protective side to me that took over. During the session, I was able to identify that seeing the cemetery triggered an urge to cut, but that the fidgeting kept me from trying to act on it. I was able to tell him this. we talked some more, but I was totally thrown by this sensation. I think I may have dissociated this way in the past (something felt familiar and safe about it) but not necessarily with this level of consciousness behind it. I’m still not describing it right, but I can’t think of the way to tell it accurately. I’m not quite sure I have a full understanding of it.
Anyway, I managed to tell him some other things that I had intended to tell him. We kinda came up with a safety plan. I was kinda able to tell him my anxieties around calling hotlines and asking help when I don’t feel like my problems are pressing and worthy of attention. He tried to reassure me about the value of calling 211 in times of “crisis”… I told him I might be able to call if I needed to. I probably lied…
Later, my wife and I went to a woman’s drop-in group. I really liked it. I was able to ask the clinician after the group for info on any therapeutic group they may have. She said the one she ran was currently closed, but offered to ask the group if it was ok that I join, if I wanted her to do that. I was able to say that I would be interested, and I was able to do so without apologizing for being a bother (something I do regularly, and something I did multiple times with D today).
Overall, it was a good day, but very exhausting. Now I just have to make it through the next week without crumbling… I told D that I would like to do a day program for the extra support right now, but I wasn’t aware of any that I could afford without insurance… He is supposed to get more info from some local places and will call back by Friday…
The overwhelming emotions of the day (days) have given way to a numb state. My head is having trouble forming thoughts and understanding information coming at me…
It feels like no matter how much we ask for help, there is no response… either we are looking in the wrong places, or it’s just hopeless… (or maybe it’s just that we are not asking in the right way… I think it’s all three)
There are times when what’s inside is just not able to be formed into sounds… I can type them, but I can’t speak them… It’s funny, because written words are so much more permanent, but the courage to say it is not there. Writing is more impersonal, more detached… it’s easier… and I’m so much better at it in times like these than I am at giving voice to the thoughts. It requires less effort. Less commitment to connect with another because I don’t have to hear your voice when you see what it is I am saying. I don’t have to see your face… I can hide and do it anonymously… I suppose I could do that over the phone also, but then you may not hear what I am not saying… and I am reminded again why I should just melt into the fibers of the carpet…
It’s not happening… the sense of relief that washed over me earlier has given way once again to that dark cloud that seems to permeate everything. I am alone because I chose to be this way. I build up the walls not only for myself, but against others seeing in. I really miss my old therapist. I miss that I could call her and be squeezed in that week as early as she had available, or she would talk to me over the phone. I miss that I trusted her… while I am not running from D, I don’t yet trust him… and that makes me feel so alone in this. I don’t want to burden other people with the weight of my thoughts. I choose not to let my family in because they have their own shit, and they don’t need to hear what is in my head.
The weight bears down on me almost too much at times, and I just wish it would finally squish me out of existence… but that won’t happen… and even if it did, it would be incredibly selfish of me (as I am so often reminded) . I wouldn’t want to do that to anyone else… they don’t deserve it… but the peace on my end would be nice…
Ever have a day where you feel like shit? You’re thoughts would generally be along the lines of “I feel like shit today” Well, that would likely be your thought if you were not dealing with depression or PTSD or Bipolar or some other fun diagnosis… My thought would go something like “I am shit” and it wouldn’t be limited to today either… My self-esteem has been so low as to even categorize myself as less-than-shit for many years… It’s all in how you formulate your sentence, and the words you chose for it (consciously or unconsciously). You can take the meaning of a negative thought and ascribe it to the day, or to your whole being… It’s like Hiccup’s conversation his mentor in How to Train Your Dragon, only it’s all within myself:
Gobber:
See, now this right here is what I am talking about. If you ever want to get out to fight dragons… you need to stop all… this!
Hiccup:
But you just pointed to all of me!
The dissatisfaction with myself can be huge and overwhelming… I think it’s a problem for a lot of people… It’s quite sad. Though I do not know what is worse: being dissatisfied with yourself and hating your core; or having everyone else be dissatisfied with you for who you are.
I read a post on a forum today where a woman asked if PTSD was commonly treated by advocating for a complete change in person: changing name and “killing” the person you once were… I have not heard of it as a treatment for PTSD, but I can see it as a way to cope with hating yourself as a result of the trauma. This person was one who had been deployed several times. I am guessing he participated in some acts that went so against his image of himself, that he felt the need to obliterate that person… I think I could see needing to completely change if I had killed innocent people, or participated in a war… It goes so against who I see myself being that I don’t think I could reconcile that with the actuality of having done it. While I would be more likely to make a less conscious split (ie: fall headlong into DID) than to consciously legally change my name and act like someone else, I could see it happening. When you see yourself as something so fundamentally different from the reality of the situation, I can’t imagine having to know that and live with it every day… I’m actually a bit surprised more veterans don’t come away with a DID diagnosis or go ahead and change their identity all together… but then again, I would never volunteer for “service”…
“today was easier than the last few days have been. Even though there were low moments, overall I was able to be more social and pleasant. The one time I was reminded of a truly unpleasant thought, I was quickly able to re-direct the conversation and forget the mention of it.
This is really a pleasant surprise. I have been so low lately, it’s nice to make it through a day without wanting to obliterate myself…”
And now, I feel about as polar opposite as I can get from that. What the heck happened in half an hour? nothing. nothing happened. nothing changed, except my thought patterns. I had been pleasantly floating along in my bliss of a “happy” day, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere comes this thought: “You have to do this again tomorrow…” Now, if one were simply following along the train of thought mentioned above, this would be no issue. But I am not the average person. I battle depression and PTSD and self-injury almost daily (tho my random online screening test scored me a zero for PTSD symptoms this last week…), so my brain works differently. I tend to focus on the negative, and the thought of having to struggle again through a day is a daunting challenge. Even when I try to focus on the positive, the negative has a slick way of creeping into the picture… I don’t necessarily fit all the stereotypes of my afflictions, but I do fall into the categories. (I give my treaters a run for their money, and if they don’t know me, they often think I am BS’ing them because I don’t fit what they know… it’s frustrating…). So yes, to a normal person, that thought would have not meant anything at all, but to me, it brought my little sunny world crashing down. Thoughts of shiny objects and intoxicating liquids dance in pretty little circles in my head… wtf? I was having a good day. It had it’s bumps, but overall it was good. Now I want to take something to knock me out for the night so I don’t have to fight the pictures behind my eyes. I don’t necessarily want to act on those pictures, but they are comforting and there. comforting. yes. that’s the word for it. They bring me a sense of relief and peace. Maybe that’s why today was good, because I took the time to indulge in the fantasy of a comforting image and it took over for the act itself… Maybe that is all I need today. Maybe that will be all I need tomorrow… until the images cease to be enough, and I crave the act…
I got a re-offer on the job, but I really don’t know if I can put all my effort into it. I want to be able to be productive, but I fear that it will be triggering in some way and I will crumble completely again… but it’s a job. So I should take it… even if I come crashing down through all the scaffolding I’ve erected recently. I really need the money. We really need the income… but I really don’t want to fall apart over it. It’s not worth my sanity… but then again, having no money is messing with me also. I can’t quite win. 😦
The more I’m awake and at home, the more my mood hits lows… the more lows I hit, the more my old, maladaptive coping skills feel like they are not all that bad after all (though I knew they really are).
On the plus side, the flashbacks have been neatly folded away again. They didn’t get all that bad before I was able to hide them away again. The dissociation is coming a bit more though… it comes hand-in-hand with the depression. I lose time trying to drown out the self-injury thoughts and the desire for ANYTHING to make this better… I still have a huge fear around calling a hotline. It’s a mixture of not feeling in crisis enough to warrant taking up their time, and fearing they may suggest (or facilitate) a trip to the ER if I say the wrong thing… I’d much rather try to talk to D and trust that he would assess the situation further before committing me… I don’t know what makes me think that, but maybe it’s that I really want him to be more trustworthy and thorough before telling me I need to go anywhere because of the thoughts that drift through my head. I don’t know… I know some of it scares me, but I also know I’m not going to act on it because I have SO MUCH to lose, it’s just not worth it… So I sit with the emotions and urges until they pass, like DBT taught me… I struggle and the thoughts are torturous, but it’s not like a stint in the hospital would help anything. There is no therapy there and they just push meds, which have historically just made me worse. If I were on meds right now, my threshold for this would have long been surpassed and I would have been committed by now. They take away what shreds of lucid thinking I have in times like these, and they make the thoughts of suicide and self-harm stronger. At least this way, my rational brain can kick in and take over and keep me safe and alive…
but I’m just rambling. I hope the weekend goes by quickly and quietly and I hear from D soon, with an appointment to see him next week so I can tell someone in person all the mud I’m stuck in…
This is what we need to remember when dealing with people: they all have their different “normals” and how they grew up surviving… We have to look at it with different eyes if we are to see the true potential behind and within each and every being. Without necessarily saying the words, this is a good example of “Trauma-informed” parenting.
Marie came to live with us at the age of 6. She had been picked up off the street at 4 in the morning, barefoot, in her underwear, looking for food. We took her in as an emergency foster placement because I knew American Sign Language and Marie was deaf. She looked like a wild animal…disheveled, matted hair, flaming eyes of distrust, so filthy everywhere that even an hour in the tub did not wash off all the grime. Her teeth were dingy yellow, and her body was emaciated. Being the “good” middle class mother that I was, I cleaned her as best I could and then I took her to buy some clothes.
In the store, she immediately disappeared. I impulsively called her name, (as though she could hear me.) When I finally found her, she was in the candy aisle, shoving candy bars into…
My emotions are all over the place today… but mostly down. My wife and I had an intake at a GLBTQI services center… her experience was better than mine, tho mine was ok. I just didn’t feel a connection, or even the desire for her to be in the room doing the intake with me.
I’ve wanted to cry all day and stay in bed. I’ve been over-dosing on music in my ears. It helps drown out not only the world, but my thoughts. I feel better after sleeping, even if only for a few minutes. It helps me forget…
I took a chance and left a message for D asking if they can bill me sometimes when I don’t have the money. I hope he gets back to me before next week. I really need to talk to someone. I feel myself slipping, and I want to head it off if I can. I can’t afford a slip down here. They hospitalize for nothing, and I would be stuck in a shitty state facility because I have no money and no insurance…
Ugh. Can someone just shoot me now? I’m really just done. I’m so tried. It doesn’t let up…
My mom almost made me cry today, in a good way. She gave us each $30 so we aren’t so broke… that was so awesome.
Indulging? Giving up? Whatever it is, I’m listening to music in bed because everything pisses me off today. Everything makes me want to cry. The stupidest little things make me want to crumble to pieces on the outside as much as I am on the inside… it’s frustrating. I want to be able to smile and push myself to fake it through the day until I actually genuinely can smile at it, but I don’t know why I want that. Maybe just to make others feel ok about it all… the truth is I just want to indulge the depression and self-destruction… there isn’t even decent alcohol in the house to help drown out all the crap in my brain…
I miss my old therapist. I miss her support. I miss that she kinda knew me… I miss that she saw past my fake smile when I gave it to her. The guy I met down here hasn’t figured that out yet (how could he? I haven’t given it to him yet, except over the phone, and its hard to hear in my voice)…
I need to stop writing now… the autocorrect on my phone is just pissing me off, and making this therapeutic thing more frustrating and infuriating than it should be…
I don’t much believe in a god, but I like most of her music… this song’s fitting for this blog… I don’t normally post things like this here, I generally leave it for fb… this just resonates with me. Music can be such a powerful communication tool, coping skill. It plays a huge role in my life. Tho you will likely not find my favorite artists here often, you might be exposed to things that strike a chord with me at the time…
On a different day, I will dedicate a post to music and how it has helped me through various things in life… but that is too much emotion for today. I’m raw and flustered. I need some time to breathe again before I delve into anything quite that deep…
ok. I lied. here are a few more that I really like listening to lately… no particular order.
(the lyrics are annoying, but I like this version)
The group ended up being… I don’t know. It sucked. they reminded me too much of being in that space where I was lumped with the hopeless and non-functioning. I can’t do that again. It’s making the butterflies come back that send me over to the other side. Its a really cool concept, but it doesn’t work in practice for me right now. I need more distance from that space before I can safely go back without feeling lost and hopeless myself.
I got a call back from that university’s trauma program. They are more
expensive than D, and they have a waiting list… I had her put me on it in case D doesn’t work out, but I have a feeling I won’t be going there. I just miss having someone to contact when the little triggers come up… I miss having someone to talk to even when I have no money, but things are shakey…
So, my wife and I attended a NAMI group yesterday… it was not at all like I had expected, as my experience with them had been different back home. It was more of a resources group than a support group. That said, it did manage to point us to a cool art space next door. It’s run by the county mental health department, and provides materials and classes to anyone, but for free to those with mental illness. It’s a drop-in center where you can apparently hang out all day. We picked up a calendar and signed up for their programs (you have to be a member to access them, but it was 2 redundantly quick forms that you hand in to whomever is working). Today we will hit up some of their classes (Reiki, PTSD support, and a community group, since my wife has an interview down the street later tonight). I’m hoping it turns out to be cool. There is a wide variety of people there, ones obviously struggling with very acute and severe mental illness, and ones not so apparently afflicted. It also had the added benefit of having pamphlets and such that pointed us in the direction of other services (and potential places to apply for employment for me).
I am a big proponent of art as therapy, so this will be a neat experience. It also got us thinking that we can start something like this when we move back home in a year or so. I would attach it to the nature center and offer art and animal experiences to the public. Not sure about the funding sources, but there’s time to think about that yet.
The weird part about yesterday was the feeling of being back in that type of setting again… I had resisted integrating into a more severely afflicted population for a long time. I did not see myself as a chronically afflicted person with such limited functioning and obvious struggles. The system however, constantly lumped me in with severely impaired patents. This messed with my identity (which was a fledgling little thing at the time, but I knew this did not fit what I wanted the rest of my life to look like). I fought hard against identifying with the person next to me who battled voices (or indulged them, depending on your viewpoint). I was constantly asked if I saw myself as better. I cringed at this question every time, but I had no real clear way of explaining that no, I did not see myself as better, just different. Today I have those words, but I rarely get asked that anymore, as I am not in a revolving cycle of hospitalizations and intensive outpatient treatments. I lead a relatively “normal” life where I only see an outpatient therapist (well, ok, not even that anymore, but out of force, not choice). I do not see myself as someone needing such intense intervention anymore. I have moved past that. And while the threat of it still looms some days, I am able to pull myself out of that space and come back to a more balanced point. So why am I choosing to access more services at this time? Well, I’m quite frankly bored, and the support is useful. I do much better when I can look forward to a regular and easily accessible support system. Like I had mentioned in a previous post, I weaken when I have no prospect of a therapeutic connection. While I have now found a therapist I can see once I get some income, I find myself craving the therapeutic contact to keep me even-keeled. I need to be able to admit to someone that things are not always perfect, and that I get pulled under at times. I also need that support, as I have very little here except for my mom and my wife… more supports are always better than fewer… So off we go to make more connections and see where we can move ahead.
In my desperate attempts to alleviate my own suffering, I’ve found I traumatized many people. It is not something I ever set out to do, or ever thought I would. I was simply doing the best I could in any given moment. That, however, yielded its own wake of horrors.
Those around me when I crashed were burdened with the images and knowledge of the fall-out. Those closest to me were witness to some terrible things, and it has left an indelible mark.
When you are crumbling, you never think of what effect it will have on people. It’s not because you are selfish, but because you are so lost in all the pain that you cannot see beyond the blackness. That which brings you comfort brings nightmares to others. My wife saw some terrible stuff. My self injury had gotten so bad at one point that doctors had trouble believing I would have done that to myself. I traumatized my wife, my doctors, and everyone else that had to endure my feeble attempts at making things better. It causes flashbacks, like the ones I was trying to get out of…
I never wanted to be THAT person. I never wanted to cause such harm to those I love and care about. But that is the natural course of seeing such violence and feeling so helpless to change things…
So, in an attempt to find a way to make money fast, and relieve some of the financial pressures on us, I stumbled upon a blog that is all about doing what you love, and making what you do meaningful (the guy makes money off of this, which is how it connected to making money fast), but his original idea is founded in doing what you love…
That got me thinking… I have this blog that, while mainly started for myself, I would really like it to also help others. I began thinking about my struggles to find treatment that works. What are the barriers to finding other helpful and effectual treatments for trauma? What are the instinctual defenses and coping strategies we turn to when we don’t know what we are supposed to turn to?
It reminded me of the way EMDR came about. The woman who developed it noticed that she would go for a walk thinking about her problem, noticed that she unconsciously looked from side to side during her walk, and noticed that she felt better when she returned from her walk. So I began thinking about what my instincts are when I’m stressed. I thought about what others do. People around me are constantly talking and talking about the things that bother them. I do the same thing, I need to get it out and tell someone (or more than one person) what happened or what is bothering me. I think it is not only the telling, but also the audience. So I have 2 ideas that I need to flesh out.
The first is to actually tell the details of the trauma. This poses some dilemmas. One is that it triggers the hell out of me to think about or tell my trauma, so I will need to have support after the telling (that, or I am rendered speechless by the pure force of the emotion and the events in my head, which makes the telling piece difficult). The other is that it has the potential to overwhelm the other person… Clinicians and treaters are just people. They are people with their own troubles, fears, and vulnerabilities. To come up with a viable treatment model that utilizes this spilling of trauma, I’d have to develop (or utilize) a really good support system for the treaters as well as the clients. I would want someone to be able to talk to whenever I needed them, either in person or over the phone. I would want to provide this, or something similar, for the treaters also. I would want to ensure that talk about suicidal thoughts or self-injury would prompt support, and not automatic hospitalization. This somewhat builds on the DBT concepts of riding the wave of emotions, but this time with support and someone “holding your hand” through it all. While I see the value in learning to handle your triggers and urges on your own, there is also something very powerful about having someone there with you to witness it. I have always felt this want for someone to be there through the experience; to help keep me safe when I can’t do it anymore. I turned that desire into action one day while I was working with a particularly difficult adolescent. She was bent on destroying the house, and pushing the limits of all the staff present (and her house-mates), At one point, she managed to turn on the stove and was about to put her hands on it to burn herself. None of what we were saying was getting through to her, so I stepped in front of the stove and took her hands. I held them as she tried to push past me (she was about a foot taller and a good 80lbs heavier than me, and I’m not small). I told her again and again that I would keep her safe and I would keep the house safe. In that moment that I held her wrists, she looked at me and something clicked. She moved away from the stove after several minutes (and a few half-assed attempts to pull her hands free of mine) and stopped pushing my buttons for the rest of the day. It only lasted like that for the rest of the shift, but it made a difference for that time. I think it’s a very powerful thing to have someone there with you in a non-threatening way to help keep you safe when you cannot do it yourself…
The other idea is a spin-off of having witnesses to the journey. It also builds on a theory I saw on a PBS special. That theory advocated the telling and re-telling of the trauma until it lost its impact. They did not flesh out all the points of the treatment plan, but from what they showed, I think it has some merits. Anyway, and please tell me if this is a horrible idea, I think it might be helpful to do this in an intensive group setting. Wait! you may say, this will cause a huge domino effect of triggering… Well, that’s kind of the point. I noticed in groups, the most benefit I got from many of them was when someone’s experiences triggered something in me and I got a chance to deal with it. This would be tricky as a group where the point is to tell triggering things, and not just walk on eggshells around topics. But I think with the proper support available (MANY treaters on hand, at least 1.5+ per person in group, because some people need more than one person to bring them back), this could be a viable path to dealing with all the crap we don’t always think of accessing during treatment. The groups could start with a topic and go from there. Forget necessarily censoring the details of the event… While I understand that ambiguity of the event to another may help them access their own demons, I find it tends to limit me in the telling of the event.
There are definitely details to flesh out, and many, many conversations with other professionals to figure out the viability of these theories… But I’m determined to figure out a treatment option that works for me… and hopefully I can come up with something that may help others too…
Bring on the firestorm of criticism for this horrible idea! (It goes against all convention and current thinking and insurance company standards…)
I think this is an interesting and important conversation that needs to happen more often. I think suicide is an elephant in the room that so many are afraid to talk about because of the taboos around it, and the knee-jerk reactions even some providers have to it… I have been privileged enough to have many thought-provoking conversations with my former therapist…
Writing on suicide is dangerous because suicide is deemed unthinkable. To think about it, then, and here syntax betrays what I’m going to claim, is understood as thinking about how to do it or when to do it. To think about it is to contemplate it. Thus, one says that one is not thinking about it, but even raising the prospect elicits concern and paranoia: why would one think about it if one were not thinking about it? I want to stay with this formulation, because I think its unthinkability is a problem, albeit a problem tied to the unthinkability of death, and the political and aesthetic imperative to think through life and to cultivate thriving life.
Because suicide always elicits confession, let me tell someone else’s story.
My cousin killed himself when I was a freshman. I was in Kenya during my first (and only) summer vacation, and, as…
I ditched the job I accepted earlier in the week… it sounded sketchy. They wanted me to do “creative billing” and tack on extra charges… I just don’t feel comfortable with that. So now I feel lost. I gave up the only work prospect because my gut gave me an uneasy feeling about it. I have learned to go with my gut. The only reason I regret it is that now I have to start over again with the job search. I have no leads, and there are no hopes of any money coming in soon. It’s frustrating. I want to have some resources, but there are none… and its making me feel depressed and hopeless. Everything I used to do to make money is unavailable to me right now. That leads to wanting to hide from the world. Luckily, it hasn’t triggered my self-harm urges. Oh, and I need to cancel next week’s appointment with D because I don’t have the $8 to see him. It just all sucks…
I’ve always had difficulty trusting men in positions of power (real or perceived). I was very, very cautious about the thought of seeing a male clinician, but since the rest of my visits so far have been less-than-productive, I decided to try.
I met with D for the first time today. He is a doctoral student at a local university, and supervised by the psychologist I had hoped to work with. He was calm and affirming and in no way intimidating. I found myself easily taking to him, and spilling more than I intended. I was also more honest than I have been since I got down here. Yes, he used the textbook responses, and I could pinpoint what technique he was using and when… but as much as he seems very inexperienced, he had a very calming presence. Everyone has to start somewhere. I just hope I’m not too much for him and he runs screaming from the building one day…
I see the new EAP lady again tomorrow. It will be my last session. While she was nice, I just didn’t feel like we clicked. Our focus lays in different spots… and today was too late to cancel. Maybe she can get me hooked up with other services to see if we can get out of this hole we are in.
Why is it that certain words trigger such a strong reaction in me? There are sentiments that, when expressed to me, make my blood boil and take away filters for kindness and respect. I’m specifically thinking about all the references to god and how people have a need to tell me that their god will make it all better if I just believed… The truth about that is that, yes, your beliefs can improve or deteriorate a situation. But it doesn’t mean that if I don’t believe in your god, things will stay the same or get worse for me. Faith can be very helpful, or very crippling depending on your beliefs, but it won’t change an abusive situation, or help your finances.
As I was trying to figure out why religion is such a triggering issue for me, I remembered the first time I disclosed my abuse to someone that should have been able to help. I was told to “pray about it and God will make it all better.” That was the sentiment that was supposed to help keep me and the people I cared about safe. There was no follow up requesting details. There was no mention of other possible help on the way. “Just pray about it” and all the physical and emotional anguish will disappear. Bullshit. Things don’t work that way. No amount of prayer healed my aunt. It didn’t stop my dad from being a huge jerk. It didn’t stop his sister from doing all the shit she did. It didn’t stop my then-boyfriend from assaulting me. And it didn’t bring me any solace in the least. So bullshit. Prayer, gods, and religion don’t make anything better. Standing up for yourself does. Reaching out to the right people does. Fighting like hell does. But religion? It brings guilt, resentment, and learned helplessness.
That’s why those stupid posts about bringing god back to schools, and those about trusting god make my blood boil. I had religion in my schools and it didn’t stop, or even lessen, the violence and abuse. It didn’t make kids more tolerant of others (quite the opposite actually). It didn’t prevent students from making bad choices, and it didn’t make the campus safer… Don’t force your belief system on me or anyone. You are free to believe whatever you want, but please stop acting like it’s the only valid belief system in the universe.
lately, I have a short fuse… I snap when I shouldn’t. This is a relatively new thing for me. I don’t like it. I’m a bitch, and that’s not who I really am inside… I get mad at other people for getting frustrated and snapping… but I do the same thing they are doing. It’s really just a huge double-standard. It sucks. I try to be better about it, but I only seem to catch myself after the fact. I hate it. I hate myself for it.
I was all comfortable in my blog page being the way it was when I first came onto wordpress, but now they have gone and changed it… I love blue and all, don’t get me wrong, but the black and grey felt so much more appropriate… and what’s with changing the titles of the functions… now they have me all confused.
On another note, I got a job offer. The pay sucks, but the potential for advancement is great. I also get no benefits (which sucks because I will be losing the ones through my wife as her company continues to drop the ball with her transfer), no paid time off… but I set my own schedule, and work as much or as little as I want (and clients need me) in a given week. It will be tough, as I like having the security of knowing I will at least be getting X number of dollars every paycheck, but again, this is better than nothing, and the learning opportunities are HUGE. I have to formally accept the position on Monday, then meet with my only other co-worker in the state for shadowing, training, and meet-and-greets with my new clients. I will start out with 5, so that guarantees me 5 hours a week… now to get up to the other 35… There will be meetings, calls, and paperwork, so hopefully I can turn that 5 clients into at least 20 hours every week. Here’s to hoping… and hopefully soon I will get a bigger case-load. This will also help me in getting my wife signed up for state services (and possibly myself), as this state does not recognize my marriage, so she’s technically below the poverty level even if I’m working.
Now, I will have to pull it together and function at my best to make this all work, but it sounds cool. Case Managers here have more responsibilities and authority than they did in my last state… That will be cool. While I won’t be doing therapy, I will have more therapeutic contact with my clients and gain the skills I have been dying to get and use since graduating with my BA… And maybe we will be able to save enough money to get our credits out of the endless pit they are in and be able to buy a house… We need our own space.
When I have no support, I’m falling apart. When I finally get someone to talk to, I suddenly can’t remember why it was that I needed it so badly just a few days ago.
That’s the story of my defenses. I freak out when I don’t have the support, but can manage to hold it together when I do. Great. When the clinician asked me today what I hoped to get out of our remaining 2 sessions together, I couldn’t think of a single thing other then support… 4 days ago, I couldn’t see past the huge black cloud surrounding me. Today I can’t remember the look of it.
Maybe part of it comes from knowing that I will likely not see her after these 3 sessions. I don’t think I will have insurance again any time soon, and I can’t afford a self-pay if it’s not a sliding scale.
I see the intern guy for the first time next week. I’m hoping I am comfortable enough to work with him. I can afford his fee ($8) once in a while until I get a job… and maybe I can work on my distrust of men with him. I was able to connect with a male clinician at the trauma program. Maybe I can do it again…
The universe is conspiring to screw us… I swear, someone up there hates me. Things go ok for a moment, then everything crashes again. Our phones are shut off again. We had paid enough to just get it back on, and now it was apparently only for 2 weeks. It went offat noon today… all my applications for work have my number on it, but it is useless. And I still can’t find a therapist to see… I had to cancel my Friday appointment because I will not have the copay… I’m so on my last thread… maybe that EAP lady was right… maybe I’m just a lost cause… hoplessly doomed to this shit for the rest of my life.
That tenuous grip is slowly slipping… I lost it over potatoes crumbling when I tried to slice them… They needed to be slices… not mashed potatoes. So I threw then into the dish with the knife I was using and stormed off. I feel like shit for it. It’s such a stupid thing to get so worked up over… but it’s just one more thing not going right… and I found my tear, because they are streaming now… now that I want them to stop because my brother is coming over with my sister-in-law and her family and they really don’t need to see me in pieces. but I can’t stop crying… and it’s all over stupid things… like potatoes.
I can move my hand through the cloud next to me, extending tendrils out after my fingers. It feels like a losing battle. I desperately don’t want to lose, but that part of me it’s getting smaller, being swallowed up by the darkness.
I keep reassuring her I’m not going anywhere, but what if I’m wrong? I don’t want to do that to her. My love for her and my drive to keep her safe has to be stronger than the darkness. I have to be stronger than the darkness.
My heart hurts. The weight of this is almost crushing me…
I’ve noticed I can’t cry again… not for what I need to anyway. What is it in us that can spill tears for a touching moment in a movie, song, or poem, but dry up as soon as strong emotions hit close to home? Why is it that I can cry for the losses of others, but not for the losses I have experienced. What prompts my tears at a stupid commercial, but not at the horrors that haunt me daily?
Defense mechanisms are strange things. They can suddenly reappear after years away just because we are in the same physical environment, even if the danger is not there. The memories and flashbacks are real. I can smell the air and hear the voices. I remember everything… only I know it’s just a memory, and not currently reality. I know I am removed from it, but it doesn’t stop the panic reaction of my brain. I translate all stressors in term of the past here. My lack of employment has me feeling trapped (along with a lack of accessible finances) just as I had been as a child growing up in this neighborhood. I can tell myself a million times that “I am X years removed from that time. I have a loving wife, a family of my own. I am grown with my own freedoms and opinions. I can leave if I want to (only I really can’t because we have no money right now)” I remind myself of all my coping skills other than the old, destructive ones. I actually spent a few hours collaging tonight with my wife… All the old pictures and words I had cut out applied as much today as they had 10 years ago when I first chose them. This is both positive and negative… positive because I was able to adapt them to today and put my frustrations, fears, and thoughts onto paper, but bad in that the self-injury is still a huge topic. I thought I had moved away from it prior to coming here. Sure, I had thoughts of it, and memories, but nothing as “in-your-face” as it has been since getting here. I am at once my adult self and that lost child. My worlds are colliding, and I have no real way of differentiating between the present day and the past. I never moved on in this place. I had always relied on the physical cues of being over 1500 miles away to signify my change. I am back here again. There is no difference, no change in scenery, no support system, no refuge from the tortured memories that play in my head. I am again 3, 6, 10, 14, 16, 17… struggling with the same terrors and triggers. I know I have knowledge from the last 16 years, but it seems to dissipate in the wake of the images and sounds and smells of where I grew up.
Can trauma survivors move on without having to move clear across the continent? How do they do it? How do rape victims return to work? How do you change the pictures in your head without a physical change in location? Why is it that I cannot shake that same lost and helpless feeling? And why can I suddenly again not cry?
When I was young, Skeletor came to me in nightmares every night. I was crying for some reason… I think I had gotten hurt. He told me to stop crying or he would kill me. I don’t remember crying in front of anyone much until about 3 years ago… Suddenly, for that 3 years, I cried at everything: sad times, funerals, cute commercials… I was “water works” as my wife likes to put it. Returning here, my tears have dried. I think that is some of where the self-injury thoughts intensify… I used to equate it to crying. Only the tears were blood, not actual tears…
You will hold it in your hands, and you will hate yourself. You will hate yourself because you promised, you swore, not only to yourself but to a million other people, that it wouldn’t happen again. It was over. You’re strong. You’re better. You’re cured. What the fuck does “cured” mean anyway, when you have an illness that doesn’t even have a distinct list of symptoms, let alone a god damn cure? An illness that sneaks up and bites you in the night when you sleep; you go to bed just fine and you wake up in the throws of some kind of emotional throw down or melt down and it doesn’t matter how much you want it to go away, it won’t because it’s as ingrained in you as your name, your date of birth, your best friend.
both sides of the wall 