ramblings about interim therapists and trauma work and body stuff

I’ve been seeing another therapist in Dr C’s practice while she’s been away. It’s been weird, but helpful in maintaining balance, especially with all this physical stuff going on. I didn’t really talk to her about much outside of “safe” things (things going on in the moment, dealing with the physical stuff that doesn’t have a medical explanation yet (or ever?), surface stuff). There were times I wanted to cover other stuff that wove its way into the session, but I couldn’t open my mouth. It felt like my lips were glued together, and even if I did manage to open them, all that would come out were sobs and screams…

That’s not a new phenomenon for me. I’m not sure I’ve ever managed to open my mouth and tried to speak at a time like that. It taps into something I still don’t have an understanding of, and it never feels safe or comfortable enough to just let that part of me do whatever it needs to do for release… maybe I can bring it up with Dr C once she’s back again next week. I wish I could remember what it was that triggered that feeling.

I know before walking into the building, I had wanted to address the body memories that always get triggered (or more intense) when I get my period. We had kinda started taking about bodies, and how comfortable I was in mine (or not comfortable). We had talked a bit about liking or hating any particular part of my body. I said there wasn’t any part I liked. I should have said, there wasn’t any part I liked anymore because at one point, I had liked my eyes and my hands… but both have failed me since. My eyes either hide too much or tell too much; and my hands don’t create to my standards anymore (stupid trembling and fatigue). So no, right now there’s no part of me I like.

She also asked if there was any part I really hated. Of course there are parts I hate more than others, but there wasn’t enough time in the hour to tell her about it and still come out of the session balanced enough to go on with my day… I’m not totally sure I even want to write about it now, though there would be less explanation involved here than with her… I hate my pelvic area, and my stomach, and the insides of my legs. It’s where I feel the most uncomfortable memories, and what triggers the easiest. It’s the fastest way to send me to space…

A had asked if I’d ever done any body work (on paper) with Dr C. I told her I hadn’t, because even though Dr C had offered it, I panicked at the thought of tracing my body. A clarified that she meant doing it smaller scale. No, we never did do that… I’m not sure why the subject changed with A in that session. I think I started panicking and backpedaling into my head, because at some point, she asked how present I was & busted out a ball as a means of grounding (side note: it worked too! Who knew playing catch could actually bring me back? Normally, I can still do that stuff while dissociated. This time, the act of catching and tossing was balancing. Maybe it was the inconsistent way she did it? She would pause, look at the ball, change the speed of her toss… whatever it was, it worked).

Anyway… yeah. There were so many times I could have said more to her, but I didn’t want to get into it knowing that the hour would end too son, and I’d be left dealing with whatever came up for the rest of the week. At least with Dr C, I can reach out during the week if I need to. A did say to call if I needed anything, but I wouldn’t bother her. It takes me a long time to trust that it’s really ok to bug someone outside of the time they are getting paid to interact with me. Even with Dr C, I still hesitate much of the time, and I’ve worked with her on and off for almost 10 years now…

Oh, I remembered what I was originally going to say about the body drawing; it’s another thing where I feel frozen for fear of what I might do or say. There’s still that urge to destroy my body, even if it’s just a drawing. I still want to take a knife and stab the drawing on the parts I hate the most… or, since I no longer carry a knife with me, stab it with the pencil… that would probably freak her out, so… maybe some day I can mention that to Dr C, and we could find a way for me to be ok doing it in some form. The kid really wants to talk about it still. He has no words, just screams and sobs and anger… or silence. He’s usually just silent because the other stuff is not acceptable…

I really wish Dr C was back now. I wish this could be addressed while it’s still here & “relevant.” It’ll be gone again by next week. This is when that concept of easily accessible, more intensive treatment would be helpful; when stuff comes up and would benefit from being addressed in the moment, so it would be nice to be able to walk back into the room and get to work… let’s tackle this shit coz it’s here. Gimme that little body drawing, tack it to a tree, and let me stab the shit out of it. Let me rip it up and scream and cry and cover it in red paint so it bleeds like my body would if I did that to myself. Let me burn the page so it all goes up in smoke. He needs the release. I need the release…

Let me rip the legs off a toy, and bash it and destroy it… but then I’d need to apologize, because the toy did nothing, it’s just a receptacle for the anger. So let me run out into the woods and scream until my voice is hoarse, and my legs are so tired they want to fall off, and my breath burns in my chest (maybe my lungs would actually burn up. That would be an interesting medical & scientific impossibility)…

Sometimes the anger and the hurt is too much. Sometimes I want to disappear to a safe place where I can do something about it without weird looks and panic over my safety, because ultimately, I’ll be safe, this just all needs a release…

Why aren’t there trauma treatment centers in the middle of the woods, with animals and drop-in massage and art and yoga and holistic therapy like they have for substance abuse? And why is nothing local? Why is the only treatment center even remotely like that all the way across the country, and religious?! I want something with no BS about higher powers or gods or spiritual anything. Why does that not exist?! And why aren’t there more art or play therapists around? The kids want time too, but everything’s in an adult world, so they use translators instead…

Disappointed in myself

Do you ever wonder how you got to a  particular space in life? What triggered the change? What prompted you to think the change was good, or even acceptable?
I realized just moment’s ago that I’m the reason our cat doesn’t want to come home.  Somewhere along the way I made it acceptable to be anything but loving. I wasn’t nice to him or kind to him when redirecting his behavior. I listened to someone when they said that fear was the only motivator he would comprehend. I became my father… I know better. I know that fear only motivates resentment and more fear. I know that’s not how people or animals should be treated, and yet I fell into that trap without even thinking about it. Once again, I am a person I despise.
Time to change that. Time to take a hard look at myself and put my foot down with myself. I refuse to continue to be this way. I refuse to have my animals scared of me… I’m sorry kitty. I didn’t mean to be an asshole. I didn’t mean to change into this. I didn’t mean to be my parents (because somewhere along the way my mom picked up my dad’s habits so, she too is like him, despite knowing better)…

It’s not about my sudden support for the Huskies

I’m not a sports fan.  I could care less about sporting events 99.9% of the time, unless it’s my alma mater sweeping the men’s and women’s basketball championships.  The UConn women clinched their 9th championship, and the men their 4th.  I’m proud, if for no other reason than I was indoctrinated to 5 years (I was on the longer-term plan due to mh issues) of Husky Fever when basketball season rolled around.  There was no choice.  The campus would erupt for the games, and pride ran high.  There was no escaping it (and I worked at the school’s campus bookstore during and a bit after college).

L knows I generally don’t pay attention to sports.  She enjoys them, and gets frustrated when I don’t join her excitement.  The last 2 weeks however, I have posted a few things on my fb account about the Huskies going to Championship titles again.  I rooted for them a few times… But as I said in the title, this isn’t about the Huskies.

Stress is running high at home.  L’s move back up north is in about 4.5 weeks.  The house is physically in chaos with the work we are doing on the walls.  Couple’s therapy is soon to wrap-up.  L’s individual therapy is ending.  Changes are ever-closer on the horizon.  It’s scaring us both.  There’s no guarantees that things will be better up north financially or in terms of our living situation.  We may have to find a long-term foster for one of our dogs.  We will live apart for the first time since we moved in together 6 years ago… The stress has brought about more than one “tiff” between L and I.  She reacted strongly and negatively to my “sudden” support for sports.  We argued about it, and she admitted there was more to it than that.  I, in my frustration at her anger, told her to figure out what’s beneath it.  She came back later saying that it’s a self-esteem thing. She said that she looks to my validation of her (and everything she does, likes, supports) to bring her some semblance of self-worth.  It makes sense then that she 1) was upset when I told her again that I didn’t care about sports, and 2) suddenly seemed to become a fan.  She berated herself for needing so much outside validation from me.  She had no idea my frustrations this week were rooted in similar places.  One of our arguments has been about the animals and her resentment towards them.  She is cranky about them, and we disagree regularly about how many we should keep, and what the ideal amount of furry and scaley kids would be.  We argue over spending any money on them at all.  Earlier this week, I was hurt that she seems to resent or hate “most everything” that means a lot to me.  That was the fuel behind argument one this week.  It kills me when she snaps at the animals, or gets cranky, or gets frustrated when they need something.  Instead of telling her how hurt I was by this or why it hurt me (I didn’t really know how to put it into words at the time), I snapped at her.  I was curt and passive-aggressive in not wanting to talk to her or be around her… We also had the sports argument more than once this week, but this morning she was able to put her finger on why it bothered her.  When she voiced that, I realized that I also look to her for a lot of my self-worth.  When she doesn’t love something I’m passionate about, I question the validity of my passion.  When it’s something as integral in my life as my animals, her disapproval hurts that much more.  How can I reconcile the fact that my wife really hates a huge part of “me”?  (she will say she does not hate them, but that she thinks they make our lives more difficult.  I know she has valid points, and I know she does not, in fact, hate them.  My head however, interprets that as hate for one huge reason: G used to say things along those lines but with actual hate.  L is NOT G.  She never could be.  But my head takes the smallest similarities and blows them up into triggers that set off complex emotional reactions.  My self-worth is tied hugely into the animals and my ability to give them a good life (let’s forget for a moment that a lot of the time depression makes this really difficult to accomplish with any regularity).  It is also tied heavily into my wife’s acceptance and love for me.  The animals are “part” of me, so when she gets mad at them, I see it as her getting mad at me.  When she resents them, I take it as resentment of me. Huge cognitive leaps, I know, but I’m good at those (and so is L, because she says she feels the same way about things she holds dear)…

So now we have recognized and labeled all of this.  We have talked about it briefly.  We have come to an understanding of sorts, but I am not sure if that will necessarily change our individual reactions to rejection by the other.  I hope we get to see J this week because I think we need someone else off of whom to bounce all this.  We need J to be her regular “Ms. Obvious” and point out what we are missing.  My emotions are still really raw.  If L’s are anything like mine, this will not be the last argument we have this week.  I know I have a tendency to instigate frustrations with someone who is about to leave (even if only physically and only for a few months).  It is easier to separate physically if you are angry at someone; you don’t long for their touch or presence (or you try to convince yourself you don’t), and the days of suddenly being apart are hopefully made easier by the buffer of anger (no matter how ridiculous or nit-picky)…I know I do this.  I can see it just after I have done something to anger the other or myself.  I just don’t really know how to catch myself before doing it.  I don’t know how to think things through without opening my mouth too early.  I know how to look back and point out how stupid I was being.  That’s not very helpful though once the person you care about is now genuinely angry or hurt.  :sigh:  As I have been fond of saying over the last few weeks: anger suddenly seems easier to deal with than sadness or fear…

behavioral observations

I have a knack for working with animals… and people.  I have found that my success comes from careful (and often unconscious) observation.  When I worked in animal control in college, I was the worker with the reputation for being able to handle and calm aggressive and anxious dogs and cats.  I would take the time to watch them and pay attention to their reactions to things.  Most of the aggression came from fear, so I would volunteer my time and sit with the animals for hours on end, alternately talking to them and just going about my business nearby.  I instinctively made my posture non-aggressive (see, leaning to tip-toe around abusive and explosive adults can help with something).  I brought animals out of their shells, and worked with them to mold the aggression into acceptable and wanted behaviors.

I have found that most aggression comes from fear.  The fear may be deeply rooted and hidden, but it’s almost always there.  I have found this true with my reptiles as well as my mammals.  I have a snake that will strike wildly whenever I go into her enclosure for any reason.  I am working on hook training her and getting her used to handling.  When she does not feel cornered or uncomfortable, she is a cuddle bug (yes, snakes do cuddle, they like the warmth after all).  By using less intimidating body language and actions, I can communicate to her that I will not try to eat her or harm her in any way.

I think the same is true for people.  I think we are either so wounded or so terrified of being wounded that we often lash out in anger.  I think the anger is a defense mechanism.  People don’t have time to get under your armor if you are busy throwing out spikes.  They can’t get close enough to hurt if you run around bearing your teeth and pushing everyone away.

I think this relates to self-harm in some ways.  Self-harm is a form of aggression, only against yourself.  It is the result of anger and fear turned on the body.  It can be preventative – no one can hurt me as much as I can hurt myself; I’m going to get hurt anyway, might as well get a jump on things.  It can also be reactive – I screwed that up, so I deserve to be punished for it.  Both inadvertently work to keep people at bay.  The concept of self-harm is a scary one.  Most people will cringe at the thought, and bolt at the sight of it. They will over- or under-react to the news, but rarely be helpful in their reactions at first.  Those of our family and friends that have dealt with it in the past react a little better (we have given them reading materials, access to our treaters, insights into our pain), but they still give distance, or at least that is what we hope – that is what I hope.  I don’t want questions about my scars.  I don’t want to launch into my story with everyone that notices.  Why write a blog you may ask?  Well, I still want to tell my story, but I like the measure of anonymity the internet provides.  I can give you glimpses of my inner crazy, and you won’t change your opinion of me if you see me on the street.  If you don’t look closely at my arms, you won’t guess that I struggle (ok, if I’m crying my eyes out, you may have a clue, but that’s rare, especially in public).  If you don’t see me on the psych unit, you wouldn’t know I can barely make it through a day without craving peace at least once.

Even those that know me rarely ask about the scars (we are trained to mind our own business, and I doubt they really want an honest answer).  They look past it.  It’s scary and dangerous to be let into a world that allows someone to do so much physical harm to themselves on purpose.  It keeps people from asking with any real honesty what my life is like.  They anticipate a drama, so they avoid the inquiry.

The long and short of it is that aggression is a defense mechanism, as is self-harm.  It keeps people away from the real you so they can’t reject you and confirm all that you fear about yourself (but in their distance, they confirm that you are not worth it, so it kind of just back-fires).

This train of thought was brought to you by the article I saw online this morning that named 3 small breed dogs as the most aggressive… It got me thinking about the roots of aggression, which lead me to the thoughts on self-harm… lots of branches, but really all the same tree

(I want to add also, that self-harm is not only engaged in for the reasons mentioned above, but they are some big ones.  It can also be relief, a grounding method.  It can be a visual and outward symbol of inward pain and turmoil.  For me, it is mainly a release and grounding method.  It also has the added benefit of being somewhat preventative in that I feel no one can ever hurt me more than I can physically hurt myself… it’s really figurative, because it doesn’t really hurt, and mostly it’s trying to prevent further emotional pain, but it has still been a reason in the past).