February 17, 2010
A Part Is Born
Well, I was going to write about eugenics and explore "what if I had never been born" for the birthday-themed Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse this month.
TRIGGER WARNING! Some examples of dissociative outbursts and child abuse ahead. Please stay safe.
But, I had what felt like a set-back the other day. I got really triggered and reacted violently. I spent almost a whole day disparaging myself and even had some self-harm return. I tried so hard to pull myself back, but felt so out of control. I pulled out every grounding trick in the book. I did grounding exercises I haven't even thought of in years. But, it still took me about 24 hours to feel like myself again.
I was really disappointed because I allowed some behaviors to come out that I thought I had contracted against with various parts. I've discovered--and begun to work with--two new parts in the last few weeks. Maybe this is yet another new part who has no such contract with me. I'm not sure.
This got me wondering. Just how is a part "born" anyway? Mine seem to have come about for a whole plethora of reasons. Some are like full-fledged personalities and have tried to run away and start their own lives or have pushed me aside and tried to live life their own way with me out of the way, so to speak.
Some parts have very well-defined roles. Many of these roles are quite dysfunctional for my life now, so I've had to define and assign new roles to some parts. Other parts are what my T refers to as "partial splits," without much of a fleshed-out personality of their own at all. These splits seem to have come about for very specific, time-limited functions designed to keep me alive in my childhood's life-threatening situations.
For example, the first part I ever heard of by name--this was three years ago--was Nina. I was told she "comes out when we're in the shower." If you've ever read the account on my dot com site called, "A Fear Of Plastic Shower Curtains," You can understand why my helpless child self might have wanted to create a part just to take over when I need to take a shower. I haven't worked specifically with Nina via any kind of dialogue, but I have done EMDR on the shower torture incidents and I've done a lot of comforting and self-care work in therapy around this daily hygiene challenge.
In the very first chapter of The Dissociative Identity Disorder Sourcebook, Deborah Bray Haddock explains, "In systems where extreme splitting occurs, clients report a host of personality fragments created to do specific tasks, such as cooking, cleaning the house or going to school. Once the task is performed, the fragment becomes inactive."
In the book, The Haunted Self: Structural Dissociation and the Treatment of Chronic Traumatization, the authors talk about "a fragment that has only a minimal set of response patterns to stimuli, life history, and range of emotion/affect but has knowledge for a short period of time." They go on to say that the actions of some of these fragments are very specialized. "Some...have a very specific purpose during traumatization."
In my case, I have another split or fragment, that I don't have a name for, who came about for the sole purpose of helping me hold my breath for a long time when my father would try to drown me in the bath water. I don't know much about these partial splits or fragments, but it makes sense to me that they would not be very developed if their survival purpose was quite distinct and unique to specific situations that I don't repeatedly come across throughout the day as I go about the business of life.
Then, I have some parts who I have named--or labeled--to match their functions. These functions are more broad than the two I've just mentioned, but still don't lead these labeled parts to control the body for any great length of time. There's Sentry, who I first started getting cooperation with in March of 2007. He was a great help to me when some creep followed me on the streets of Chicago once. Sentry is not afraid to get in any one's face in order to protect me. Unfortunately, he was getting up in peoples faces in inappropriate ways that didn't match present-day situations. So, I had to contract with him to stay located in an internal lighthouse and only "come to the rescue" if some stranger approaches me in a dark parking lot, or something like that.
I have another part I call Serena. But, she's not so much serene as she is still. That is, literally, her role: She keeps the body still so that there can be no self-harm or suicide attempts. I haven't felt her around much lately, but I sure coulda used her the other day when I slapped myself in the face seven or eight times. Luckily, I was able to stop myself rather quickly and vowed to engage in no further self-injury, even without any obvious help from Serena.
Whether my part splits are currently helpful in my day-to-day life, or the actions of these fragments are now dysfunctional for me as an adult living in a safe environment, I'm glad I'm learning about them. For a while, I was convinced that unless I found a part who had a high degree of autonomy and emancipation, I wasn't dealing with dissociated pieces of myself. This is one of the reasons why the "Man, I must be crazy" attitude persisted with me for such a long time.
If you are a dissociative child abuse survivor who is uncovering less complex personality fragments and doubting your diagnosis (or your sanity), I encourage you to read the two books I've mentioned in this post. There's a reason why even your smallest, simplest parts were "born" and you very well may be alive today because of them. So, even if I don't have a name for one of these partial personality fragments, I still make it a point to thank them. They helped keep me safe, they helped me stay sane.
TRIGGER WARNING! Some examples of dissociative outbursts and child abuse ahead. Please stay safe.
But, I had what felt like a set-back the other day. I got really triggered and reacted violently. I spent almost a whole day disparaging myself and even had some self-harm return. I tried so hard to pull myself back, but felt so out of control. I pulled out every grounding trick in the book. I did grounding exercises I haven't even thought of in years. But, it still took me about 24 hours to feel like myself again.
I was really disappointed because I allowed some behaviors to come out that I thought I had contracted against with various parts. I've discovered--and begun to work with--two new parts in the last few weeks. Maybe this is yet another new part who has no such contract with me. I'm not sure.
This got me wondering. Just how is a part "born" anyway? Mine seem to have come about for a whole plethora of reasons. Some are like full-fledged personalities and have tried to run away and start their own lives or have pushed me aside and tried to live life their own way with me out of the way, so to speak.
Some parts have very well-defined roles. Many of these roles are quite dysfunctional for my life now, so I've had to define and assign new roles to some parts. Other parts are what my T refers to as "partial splits," without much of a fleshed-out personality of their own at all. These splits seem to have come about for very specific, time-limited functions designed to keep me alive in my childhood's life-threatening situations.
For example, the first part I ever heard of by name--this was three years ago--was Nina. I was told she "comes out when we're in the shower." If you've ever read the account on my dot com site called, "A Fear Of Plastic Shower Curtains," You can understand why my helpless child self might have wanted to create a part just to take over when I need to take a shower. I haven't worked specifically with Nina via any kind of dialogue, but I have done EMDR on the shower torture incidents and I've done a lot of comforting and self-care work in therapy around this daily hygiene challenge.
In the very first chapter of The Dissociative Identity Disorder Sourcebook, Deborah Bray Haddock explains, "In systems where extreme splitting occurs, clients report a host of personality fragments created to do specific tasks, such as cooking, cleaning the house or going to school. Once the task is performed, the fragment becomes inactive."
In the book, The Haunted Self: Structural Dissociation and the Treatment of Chronic Traumatization, the authors talk about "a fragment that has only a minimal set of response patterns to stimuli, life history, and range of emotion/affect but has knowledge for a short period of time." They go on to say that the actions of some of these fragments are very specialized. "Some...have a very specific purpose during traumatization."
In my case, I have another split or fragment, that I don't have a name for, who came about for the sole purpose of helping me hold my breath for a long time when my father would try to drown me in the bath water. I don't know much about these partial splits or fragments, but it makes sense to me that they would not be very developed if their survival purpose was quite distinct and unique to specific situations that I don't repeatedly come across throughout the day as I go about the business of life.
Then, I have some parts who I have named--or labeled--to match their functions. These functions are more broad than the two I've just mentioned, but still don't lead these labeled parts to control the body for any great length of time. There's Sentry, who I first started getting cooperation with in March of 2007. He was a great help to me when some creep followed me on the streets of Chicago once. Sentry is not afraid to get in any one's face in order to protect me. Unfortunately, he was getting up in peoples faces in inappropriate ways that didn't match present-day situations. So, I had to contract with him to stay located in an internal lighthouse and only "come to the rescue" if some stranger approaches me in a dark parking lot, or something like that.
I have another part I call Serena. But, she's not so much serene as she is still. That is, literally, her role: She keeps the body still so that there can be no self-harm or suicide attempts. I haven't felt her around much lately, but I sure coulda used her the other day when I slapped myself in the face seven or eight times. Luckily, I was able to stop myself rather quickly and vowed to engage in no further self-injury, even without any obvious help from Serena.
Whether my part splits are currently helpful in my day-to-day life, or the actions of these fragments are now dysfunctional for me as an adult living in a safe environment, I'm glad I'm learning about them. For a while, I was convinced that unless I found a part who had a high degree of autonomy and emancipation, I wasn't dealing with dissociated pieces of myself. This is one of the reasons why the "Man, I must be crazy" attitude persisted with me for such a long time.
If you are a dissociative child abuse survivor who is uncovering less complex personality fragments and doubting your diagnosis (or your sanity), I encourage you to read the two books I've mentioned in this post. There's a reason why even your smallest, simplest parts were "born" and you very well may be alive today because of them. So, even if I don't have a name for one of these partial personality fragments, I still make it a point to thank them. They helped keep me safe, they helped me stay sane.
Labels: aftermath, alters, birthdays, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, child abuse, dissociation, mapping, memory work, parts, self-care, torture, trauma, triggers
December 08, 2009
The Torture Still Torments
Trigger Warning! Also some foul language in the content to follow:
I continue to struggle with the reality of torture in my childhood abuse. At first, I was convinced that the times I was sadistically tortured--when I was nearly suffocated in a plastic shower curtain for instance--was limited to times when my father flew into an uncontrolled rage.
Now I know the truth: Much of the time the torture was systematic and involved mind control and an attempt to completely break my spirit. It often involved forcing a young child into a "choice" situation. Here, I had to "choose" whether to save myself or my twin sister; whether to try to spare my sister pain and torture or allow her to be hurt. Of course, in these scenarios, the real existence of choice didn't exist at all. It was just a mind fuck, and a double, impossible bind.
I have to try and somehow wrap my brain around it, to come to terms with the fact that I was also abused by people outside of my immediate, biological "family." To my knowledge, these were not people involved with the occult or devil worship or any kind of religious-like rituals. Many times, I was "sold" to these individuals in order to perform sexual acts. But, it has recently become revealed to me through retrieved memories, that I was also forced into elaborately set-up torture scenarios (sometimes with my twin, sometimes not).
These scenarios were planned, carried out and viewed by sick individuals who enjoyed seeing a child in mental, emotional and physical anguish. Witnessing my torture is what they got off on. This is how they got their jollies. This is what they threw their heads back and laughed at. This is how they got their enjoyment.
There is still no excuse for it. But, I am really seeing now more clearly how people turn their heads and look the other way. I understand the horrors that people want to deny could ever happen to our children in our culture. No one wants to live in a world where this is even possible.
I continue to struggle with the reality of torture in my childhood abuse. At first, I was convinced that the times I was sadistically tortured--when I was nearly suffocated in a plastic shower curtain for instance--was limited to times when my father flew into an uncontrolled rage.
Now I know the truth: Much of the time the torture was systematic and involved mind control and an attempt to completely break my spirit. It often involved forcing a young child into a "choice" situation. Here, I had to "choose" whether to save myself or my twin sister; whether to try to spare my sister pain and torture or allow her to be hurt. Of course, in these scenarios, the real existence of choice didn't exist at all. It was just a mind fuck, and a double, impossible bind.
I have to try and somehow wrap my brain around it, to come to terms with the fact that I was also abused by people outside of my immediate, biological "family." To my knowledge, these were not people involved with the occult or devil worship or any kind of religious-like rituals. Many times, I was "sold" to these individuals in order to perform sexual acts. But, it has recently become revealed to me through retrieved memories, that I was also forced into elaborately set-up torture scenarios (sometimes with my twin, sometimes not).
These scenarios were planned, carried out and viewed by sick individuals who enjoyed seeing a child in mental, emotional and physical anguish. Witnessing my torture is what they got off on. This is how they got their jollies. This is what they threw their heads back and laughed at. This is how they got their enjoyment.
There is still no excuse for it. But, I am really seeing now more clearly how people turn their heads and look the other way. I understand the horrors that people want to deny could ever happen to our children in our culture. No one wants to live in a world where this is even possible.
Labels: broken, denial, memory work, therapy, torture
November 13, 2009
My Parts Are Alive...
...With The Sound of Triggers!
Quick request, bloggy buddies, for you to send up a quick prayer, healing thought, positive vibe, etc. My therapist has been rearranging my appointments lately (still doing the double-time every week) because her mother is in the hospital. While I certainly feel for her and know she has her own life, this couldn't have come at a worse time.
I've got these little child parts telling me about torture memories that occurred outside the "family" and I seem to have had some parts who held all the triggering noises for me. Guess what? They're all PTSD and flashback-like now. It seems I'm triggered by just about anything that sounds like it has a motor in it.
I'm doing all I can to comfort and calm without the support of my T while she's out of town, but it's just all I can do to keep it together right now. Yesterday, I heard some motor noise--truck, street sweeper, I don't know--and a scared voice came out of my mouth saying, "It's coming closer. Where is it? I have to see it so I know how close it's getting!" This was quickly followed by a tearful crumpling. I've been ultra sensitive to sounds and having flashbacks today as well. So, I've had my MediaPlayer on all day, playing the same soft garden sounds/music over and over to cover up noises and calm my shattered nerves.
I'm doing a lot of work right now, but it can sure be filled sometimes with trauma triggers and fear. Thanks, in advance, for those thoughts, prayers and vibes, all.
Quick request, bloggy buddies, for you to send up a quick prayer, healing thought, positive vibe, etc. My therapist has been rearranging my appointments lately (still doing the double-time every week) because her mother is in the hospital. While I certainly feel for her and know she has her own life, this couldn't have come at a worse time.
I've got these little child parts telling me about torture memories that occurred outside the "family" and I seem to have had some parts who held all the triggering noises for me. Guess what? They're all PTSD and flashback-like now. It seems I'm triggered by just about anything that sounds like it has a motor in it.
I'm doing all I can to comfort and calm without the support of my T while she's out of town, but it's just all I can do to keep it together right now. Yesterday, I heard some motor noise--truck, street sweeper, I don't know--and a scared voice came out of my mouth saying, "It's coming closer. Where is it? I have to see it so I know how close it's getting!" This was quickly followed by a tearful crumpling. I've been ultra sensitive to sounds and having flashbacks today as well. So, I've had my MediaPlayer on all day, playing the same soft garden sounds/music over and over to cover up noises and calm my shattered nerves.
I'm doing a lot of work right now, but it can sure be filled sometimes with trauma triggers and fear. Thanks, in advance, for those thoughts, prayers and vibes, all.
Labels: aftermath, alters, child abuse, comfort, dissociation, memory work, PTSD, therapy, torture, trauma, triggers
September 23, 2009
Can You Fathom A Family?
Update: This post was written as a submission to this month's Family-Themed Edition of the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse. It is up now over at Paul's blog, Mind Parts. If you haven't already visited, please do. And won't you please leave supportive comments for these brave bloggers participating? Thanks!
***
Whenever I speak of my "family" of origin, that's what I do: I put the word family in quotation marks. I don't consider myself as a person who had a family growing up.
Whenever there was some strife or "upset" at a holiday gathering or the "family" dinner table (which inevitably there almost always was), my mother liked to lament, "Can't we just be a family?" So surprised you have the nerve to even ask that question, dear old mom. But it's a good one. I don't know. Can we be a family? What makes for a family anyway?
What Is a Family? by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
Let's see. Do you make a family by getting Grandma to buy frilly, fancy clothes for your children and then parading them around to the homes of relatives to sit still and proper, with their mouths shut and their hands folded in their laps? Hhmmmm...I think that's called "keeping up appearances." No, that doesn't quite seem to be enough to cut it to me.
Maybe you make a strong family by neglecting to get proper medical treatment for your children when they are deathly ill or have been severely injured. Nope. Don't think that's it, either. How 'bout calling your child "bad, dirty and evil" after you allow their father to have sex with them? Nah! Don't think so. Prostituting your daughters out to other men? That definitely doesn't work. I know! Claiming a child as a dependent on your taxes after they've been working to earn their own money since they were 11 years old and completely on their own (so they can't file their own income tax)! No, that doesn't define a family either.
Do I sound angry? I hope so! You may have noticed--if you've been reading my blog for a while--that I was able to sneak in a new detail there that is quite heinous. It's something I've been working my butt off on in therapy lately. I'm quite motivated to resolve this hideous, new area of retrieved memories so that maybe, some day, I can relax during the fall months and not freak out in dissociative dysfunction every year. Yeah, I deserve to feel my feelings of anger. I never deserved to be treated this way as a helpless, innocent child.
Do I sound sad? Probably so. I am doing a lot of necessary grieving. I certainly grieve over the childhood and the family I never had.
But, I am also happy and rather proud that I have the chance--and I am taking it--to break the multi-generational cycle of abuse. I can end the legacy I was born into. I've been able to create my own family with my husband and my beloved son.
I am not like my own parents who, at best, saw children as a bother and a burden. I can remember it like it was, literally, yesterday: The day I brought my tiny bundle of joy home from the hospital was one of the happiest days of my life. I don't remember being any more elated on any day before or since that time. It was a time of pure joy that I was able to claim because of my commitment to break the cycle of child abuse.
Has it been easy--trying to fathom a family and forming one--with no positive role models of my own to follow? No, it hasn't been easy. I would be lying to you if I said it was. All three of the members of this family are in therapy. I don't think there's any other way, when the person in the mother role has a severe dissociative disorder.
But, we are facing our issues and challenges, not just keeping up appearances. We love each other and we strive every day to show it and to keep our family communication open. My son will be 13 on his next birthday. But, he still asks me for hugs. The insightful bugger even said to me, just the other day: "You've made great progress on your disability. I'm proud of you, Mom." My heart swells. Yes, we are a family. I get to say that because of the commitment I made even before my child was conceived. We get to claim that because of the love we share, the words we use, and the action we take to be a family.
***
Whenever I speak of my "family" of origin, that's what I do: I put the word family in quotation marks. I don't consider myself as a person who had a family growing up.
Whenever there was some strife or "upset" at a holiday gathering or the "family" dinner table (which inevitably there almost always was), my mother liked to lament, "Can't we just be a family?" So surprised you have the nerve to even ask that question, dear old mom. But it's a good one. I don't know. Can we be a family? What makes for a family anyway?
What Is a Family? by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
Let's see. Do you make a family by getting Grandma to buy frilly, fancy clothes for your children and then parading them around to the homes of relatives to sit still and proper, with their mouths shut and their hands folded in their laps? Hhmmmm...I think that's called "keeping up appearances." No, that doesn't quite seem to be enough to cut it to me.
Maybe you make a strong family by neglecting to get proper medical treatment for your children when they are deathly ill or have been severely injured. Nope. Don't think that's it, either. How 'bout calling your child "bad, dirty and evil" after you allow their father to have sex with them? Nah! Don't think so. Prostituting your daughters out to other men? That definitely doesn't work. I know! Claiming a child as a dependent on your taxes after they've been working to earn their own money since they were 11 years old and completely on their own (so they can't file their own income tax)! No, that doesn't define a family either.
Do I sound angry? I hope so! You may have noticed--if you've been reading my blog for a while--that I was able to sneak in a new detail there that is quite heinous. It's something I've been working my butt off on in therapy lately. I'm quite motivated to resolve this hideous, new area of retrieved memories so that maybe, some day, I can relax during the fall months and not freak out in dissociative dysfunction every year. Yeah, I deserve to feel my feelings of anger. I never deserved to be treated this way as a helpless, innocent child.
Do I sound sad? Probably so. I am doing a lot of necessary grieving. I certainly grieve over the childhood and the family I never had.
But, I am also happy and rather proud that I have the chance--and I am taking it--to break the multi-generational cycle of abuse. I can end the legacy I was born into. I've been able to create my own family with my husband and my beloved son.
I am not like my own parents who, at best, saw children as a bother and a burden. I can remember it like it was, literally, yesterday: The day I brought my tiny bundle of joy home from the hospital was one of the happiest days of my life. I don't remember being any more elated on any day before or since that time. It was a time of pure joy that I was able to claim because of my commitment to break the cycle of child abuse.
Has it been easy--trying to fathom a family and forming one--with no positive role models of my own to follow? No, it hasn't been easy. I would be lying to you if I said it was. All three of the members of this family are in therapy. I don't think there's any other way, when the person in the mother role has a severe dissociative disorder.
But, we are facing our issues and challenges, not just keeping up appearances. We love each other and we strive every day to show it and to keep our family communication open. My son will be 13 on his next birthday. But, he still asks me for hugs. The insightful bugger even said to me, just the other day: "You've made great progress on your disability. I'm proud of you, Mom." My heart swells. Yes, we are a family. I get to say that because of the commitment I made even before my child was conceived. We get to claim that because of the love we share, the words we use, and the action we take to be a family.
Labels: aftermath, anger, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, breaking the cycle, child abuse, dissociation, family of origin, grieving, memory work, therapy
September 17, 2009
Emotional & Technical Difficulties: Please Stand By
My computer is giving me fits again. Firefox is not working on it. I've got Internet Explorer working intermittently, but it...is...so...s-l-o-w! I've tried to just go down my links list and visit everybody, in case I can't do that for a while.
I'm really bummed about Polyvore, as that has been one of my life lines lately. With my slow connection, I haven't done as much over there for a while. The other day, I was trying to build a collage and parts of the page (the ones with the necessary buttons, for crying out loud) kept disappearing. Aarrgghhh!
I'm also reeling from this Fall Memory Maze I'm trying to navigate. The other day, I woke up so afraid, I couldn't get out of bed. It was so bad, I couldn't get any comfort going at all. It was all I could do to jump out quickly and grab the phone to call my husband. I asked him to come home and stay with me a while. The wonderful angel did! He brought me tea and sat on the edge of the bed for a while. I think I had a brief glimpse of what agoraphobics must go through. I told my husband, "I know it doesn't make any sense, but I feel like there are mean people out there (outside) who want to hurt me." He stayed with me while. I finally got dressed and my hubby stood there while I watered a few flowers. The fear eventually died down.
Barbed by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
This collage represents how I've been feeling often lately. Scattered, afraid...on the verge of becoming unraveled and completely hysterical. I'm doing extra therapy this week. I think I'm very close to something new and really big in the Autumn Memory Department.
Don't forget, everybody: The next Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse will be over at Paul's blog, Mind Parts. The deadline for submissions is Wednesday, September 23rd. He's only got a handful of submissions so far, so let's get those in! Here's the submission form. Would you please go around to blogs and remind each other? I may not be able to do it as I'd like with my computer woes. Thanks!
I'm really bummed about Polyvore, as that has been one of my life lines lately. With my slow connection, I haven't done as much over there for a while. The other day, I was trying to build a collage and parts of the page (the ones with the necessary buttons, for crying out loud) kept disappearing. Aarrgghhh!
I'm also reeling from this Fall Memory Maze I'm trying to navigate. The other day, I woke up so afraid, I couldn't get out of bed. It was so bad, I couldn't get any comfort going at all. It was all I could do to jump out quickly and grab the phone to call my husband. I asked him to come home and stay with me a while. The wonderful angel did! He brought me tea and sat on the edge of the bed for a while. I think I had a brief glimpse of what agoraphobics must go through. I told my husband, "I know it doesn't make any sense, but I feel like there are mean people out there (outside) who want to hurt me." He stayed with me while. I finally got dressed and my hubby stood there while I watered a few flowers. The fear eventually died down.
Barbed by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
This collage represents how I've been feeling often lately. Scattered, afraid...on the verge of becoming unraveled and completely hysterical. I'm doing extra therapy this week. I think I'm very close to something new and really big in the Autumn Memory Department.
Don't forget, everybody: The next Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse will be over at Paul's blog, Mind Parts. The deadline for submissions is Wednesday, September 23rd. He's only got a handful of submissions so far, so let's get those in! Here's the submission form. Would you please go around to blogs and remind each other? I may not be able to do it as I'd like with my computer woes. Thanks!
Labels: aftermath, alters, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, broken, collage, feelings, freeze response, memory work, therapy
August 25, 2009
Beauty for the Dark Journey
As I said in my "August Angst" post below, my plans with my therapist were to deal with the back-to-school trauma memories head on. I've been successful at doing this and have been able to avoid any really big firefighter dissociative episodes, hospital stays or running away in dissociative fugues. But, it has been a dark, ugly journey into the painful abyss.
Some of my pampering and comforting rituals have not been working lately. I had to cancel a massage appointment last week because I just couldn't bare the thoughts of anybody touching me.
What has worked, however, is I've been clinging to beauty. Visits to the Denver Botanic Garden, growing things in my own garden, sitting in my backyard sanctuary and listening to a soothing CD called "Peaceful Garden" have all helped when the emotions that have surfaced from memory processing have left me ragged and raw.
I've also been quite productive over at Polyvore with art therapy collages. Here's the one that prompted this update post.
Beauty For The Dark Journey by Marj aka Thriver on
When I couldn't muster up the courage to visit my massage therapist last week, I decided to go "inside" and see what the fear was about and who was upset. I made the "mistake" of saying, "If I don't know who you are and where you are, I can't come and rescue you and help you feel better..." something like that. I immediately heard this little voice in my head cry out, "But, I don't know where I am!" Oh, Lordy!
I was in a panic as to how I would do my little visualization rescue technique with my therapist the next day, if I didn't have a firm "place" to go and rescue this little inner child part of myself. It's been fairly easy up to now as I just visualize returning to the house I lived in for the first 10 years of my life. But, recently, I've been retrieving ghastly memories of abuse that took place away from the "home."
I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I calmed every body down as best as I could and tried to reason that my therapy session was just a day away and I could wait. In the meantime, art therapy at Polyvore came through for me again. I created this collage as a visual representation of my commitment to find this little lost part.
I Will Find You by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
As it turned out, the horrifying memory I'd been dreading was of abuse that took place at the school where my father taught for years. I was in the shower area of a locker room with no windows. It was very dark in there and that's why this part wasn't sure, at first, where she was.
I won't go into the gory details, but I believe there were some drugs involved in my abuse at this time. When I awoke in the dark, I was disoriented and thought for a moment that maybe I was dead. When I realized that I wasn't--I was very much alive--I was devastated. Maybe this was the first time in my life that I became suicidal, I don't know. But, what I do know is that my parents did, indeed, thoroughly break me. I hadn't been able to admit this to myself up to this point. I had thought I was stronger than that.
This realization is devastating for me. But, again, it opens up the channels of grief. And feeling the feelings is, as always, the key to my healing. So, I'm doing a lot of that. And, at the same time, I'm clinging to any comfort and beauty I can find. Right now, as a matter of fact, I'm listening to a track on my "Peaceful Garden" CD called "Tranquility." I have to have some beauty and tranquility to hold on to as I face my brokenness.
Some of my pampering and comforting rituals have not been working lately. I had to cancel a massage appointment last week because I just couldn't bare the thoughts of anybody touching me.
What has worked, however, is I've been clinging to beauty. Visits to the Denver Botanic Garden, growing things in my own garden, sitting in my backyard sanctuary and listening to a soothing CD called "Peaceful Garden" have all helped when the emotions that have surfaced from memory processing have left me ragged and raw.
I've also been quite productive over at Polyvore with art therapy collages. Here's the one that prompted this update post.
Beauty For The Dark Journey by Marj aka Thriver on
When I couldn't muster up the courage to visit my massage therapist last week, I decided to go "inside" and see what the fear was about and who was upset. I made the "mistake" of saying, "If I don't know who you are and where you are, I can't come and rescue you and help you feel better..." something like that. I immediately heard this little voice in my head cry out, "But, I don't know where I am!" Oh, Lordy!
I was in a panic as to how I would do my little visualization rescue technique with my therapist the next day, if I didn't have a firm "place" to go and rescue this little inner child part of myself. It's been fairly easy up to now as I just visualize returning to the house I lived in for the first 10 years of my life. But, recently, I've been retrieving ghastly memories of abuse that took place away from the "home."
I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I calmed every body down as best as I could and tried to reason that my therapy session was just a day away and I could wait. In the meantime, art therapy at Polyvore came through for me again. I created this collage as a visual representation of my commitment to find this little lost part.
I Will Find You by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
As it turned out, the horrifying memory I'd been dreading was of abuse that took place at the school where my father taught for years. I was in the shower area of a locker room with no windows. It was very dark in there and that's why this part wasn't sure, at first, where she was.
I won't go into the gory details, but I believe there were some drugs involved in my abuse at this time. When I awoke in the dark, I was disoriented and thought for a moment that maybe I was dead. When I realized that I wasn't--I was very much alive--I was devastated. Maybe this was the first time in my life that I became suicidal, I don't know. But, what I do know is that my parents did, indeed, thoroughly break me. I hadn't been able to admit this to myself up to this point. I had thought I was stronger than that.
This realization is devastating for me. But, again, it opens up the channels of grief. And feeling the feelings is, as always, the key to my healing. So, I'm doing a lot of that. And, at the same time, I'm clinging to any comfort and beauty I can find. Right now, as a matter of fact, I'm listening to a track on my "Peaceful Garden" CD called "Tranquility." I have to have some beauty and tranquility to hold on to as I face my brokenness.
Labels: aftermath, beauty, broken, child abuse, comfort, denial, dissociation, feelings, grieving, memory work, therapy
August 03, 2009
August Angst
Well, there it is: It is now August. 
Just saying that to myself fills me with a sense of impending doom.
Last August was a dissociative nightmare. You can read about the "dissociative detour" in this old post here.
I used to think only the official Autumn season was routinely filled with trauma terror. But, the last couple of years I've been noticing that it often starts in August, around the time we start thinking of the kids getting back to school. I saw a "Back to School" promotional banner up the other day and I just got a sinking feeling of dread.
This year, I've got to do something different. My "firefighter" and "manager" parts have already tried all kinds of far-out avoidance tactics to no avail. Let's see, I went down to the Ross trauma program in Dallas coming on three years ago. I've run away to Arizona and the wilds of the national forest in dissociative fugues. I've tried the end-of-summer family vacation and Autumn solo getaways. And, of course, there were more suicidal stays in the hospital than I'd care to mention.
I don't want to repeat any of those this year, thank you very much. I've been talking to my therapist about it on and off for weeks already. I want to be more proactive about it this year.
What we decided at my T appointment last Thursday is that I may just have to face a real whopper of a memory head on. There's probably something about my father being a teacher and the end of the summer that prompted some really bad abuse and, therefore, the dreaded memory I've been trying to avoid seemingly at all costs.
But, something happened when I faced the ultimate betrayal of remembering that my mother knew (and did nothing) about my father almost killing me. I felt the excruciating pain of it...and I didn't die or go crazy.
Maybe I can do the same with this back-to-school memory. I'm sure (duh) that it's something really bad. But, maybe I can just realize that this terrible thing really did happen to me and the hurt of it really sucks. Maybe I can finally allow the little traumatized child inside me to feel the feelings of it. Maybe I can somehow cradle that inner child of mine in my arms and let her cry. Then, of course, I can continue to really take care of myself, comfort myself and pamper myself while I grieve. That's what I've been doing lately and it's been working very well for me.
And with my son back in school, I'll have even more private time for self-care. So, I'm telling myself this will work. I can do this. This may be one of the hardest things I've ever had to face. Send out some courage and strength vibes for me, won't you? Thanks!
One thing I'm not sure I'm going to do is the August edition of The Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse. If there's anybody out there who is just itching to host an August edition, please let me know. If not, I may just let it slide for a month.
Just saying that to myself fills me with a sense of impending doom.
Last August was a dissociative nightmare. You can read about the "dissociative detour" in this old post here.
I used to think only the official Autumn season was routinely filled with trauma terror. But, the last couple of years I've been noticing that it often starts in August, around the time we start thinking of the kids getting back to school. I saw a "Back to School" promotional banner up the other day and I just got a sinking feeling of dread.
This year, I've got to do something different. My "firefighter" and "manager" parts have already tried all kinds of far-out avoidance tactics to no avail. Let's see, I went down to the Ross trauma program in Dallas coming on three years ago. I've run away to Arizona and the wilds of the national forest in dissociative fugues. I've tried the end-of-summer family vacation and Autumn solo getaways. And, of course, there were more suicidal stays in the hospital than I'd care to mention.
I don't want to repeat any of those this year, thank you very much. I've been talking to my therapist about it on and off for weeks already. I want to be more proactive about it this year.
What we decided at my T appointment last Thursday is that I may just have to face a real whopper of a memory head on. There's probably something about my father being a teacher and the end of the summer that prompted some really bad abuse and, therefore, the dreaded memory I've been trying to avoid seemingly at all costs.
But, something happened when I faced the ultimate betrayal of remembering that my mother knew (and did nothing) about my father almost killing me. I felt the excruciating pain of it...and I didn't die or go crazy.
Maybe I can do the same with this back-to-school memory. I'm sure (duh) that it's something really bad. But, maybe I can just realize that this terrible thing really did happen to me and the hurt of it really sucks. Maybe I can finally allow the little traumatized child inside me to feel the feelings of it. Maybe I can somehow cradle that inner child of mine in my arms and let her cry. Then, of course, I can continue to really take care of myself, comfort myself and pamper myself while I grieve. That's what I've been doing lately and it's been working very well for me.
And with my son back in school, I'll have even more private time for self-care. So, I'm telling myself this will work. I can do this. This may be one of the hardest things I've ever had to face. Send out some courage and strength vibes for me, won't you? Thanks!
One thing I'm not sure I'm going to do is the August edition of The Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse. If there's anybody out there who is just itching to host an August edition, please let me know. If not, I may just let it slide for a month.
Labels: aftermath, anniversary, betrayal, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, comfort, denial, dissociation, feelings, grieving, inner child, memory work, therapy, triggers
July 21, 2009
A Systematic Breaking of The Spirit
I am really struggling right now. I'm trying to process a new memory that I retrieved recently. It involves so many of my parts that it is taking more time and some extra therapy.
**Trigger Warning**
I'm going through the "Realization Stage"--Yeah, I get it. This happened to me. And it really felt that bad.--on several counts. One is that it was very systematic, my parents' way of breaking my spirit. And, although I was not abused by members of a cult, my parents did utilize some brain washing, mind control-type techniques.
The memory I retrieved recently was something they forced me to say: "Nobody cares about me." and "Nobody cares what happens to me."
This comes on the heals of a memory that I've been working on--on and off--for literally years. My father, on many occasions, tried to drown me in the bathtub. Sometimes it was a joke of his. Sometimes it was a life-or-death struggle to survive. It didn't think my mother knew about these near-death torture situations. But, she did.
For so long, it's been hard enough to break through my denial and accept the realization that she was aware of all the sexual abuse my father forced on me. I figured she was okay with sexual acts that she did not want to be obligated to perform herself. But, now I have to face the fact that this monster man who was my father could have done anything to me. He could have killed me. He could have done anything his twisted mind could think up and my mother would do nothing to step in and protect me.
This is so final. So infinite. Nobody cares what happens to me. Nobody cares...no matter what.
The worst part is how much I still believe it. This is such a core belief.
It is seared to my soul.
I don't know what it is going to take to undo it. I don't know if it is possible to erase it. My logical mind knows that people now care about me. But, this was ingrained into my very being. My gut, my heart, my soul are taking a lot longer to reprogram the message.
I'm doing my best to comfort parts right now. But many of them are just about inconsolable. The anguish is huge. If I don't get around to some blogs for a while, please forgive me. I am just in the depths of grief right now.
**Trigger Warning**
I'm going through the "Realization Stage"--Yeah, I get it. This happened to me. And it really felt that bad.--on several counts. One is that it was very systematic, my parents' way of breaking my spirit. And, although I was not abused by members of a cult, my parents did utilize some brain washing, mind control-type techniques.
The memory I retrieved recently was something they forced me to say: "Nobody cares about me." and "Nobody cares what happens to me."
This comes on the heals of a memory that I've been working on--on and off--for literally years. My father, on many occasions, tried to drown me in the bathtub. Sometimes it was a joke of his. Sometimes it was a life-or-death struggle to survive. It didn't think my mother knew about these near-death torture situations. But, she did.
For so long, it's been hard enough to break through my denial and accept the realization that she was aware of all the sexual abuse my father forced on me. I figured she was okay with sexual acts that she did not want to be obligated to perform herself. But, now I have to face the fact that this monster man who was my father could have done anything to me. He could have killed me. He could have done anything his twisted mind could think up and my mother would do nothing to step in and protect me.
This is so final. So infinite. Nobody cares what happens to me. Nobody cares...no matter what.
The worst part is how much I still believe it. This is such a core belief.
It is seared to my soul.
I don't know what it is going to take to undo it. I don't know if it is possible to erase it. My logical mind knows that people now care about me. But, this was ingrained into my very being. My gut, my heart, my soul are taking a lot longer to reprogram the message.
I'm doing my best to comfort parts right now. But many of them are just about inconsolable. The anguish is huge. If I don't get around to some blogs for a while, please forgive me. I am just in the depths of grief right now.
Labels: aftermath, alters, betrayal, broken, child abuse, child parts, comfort, denial, memory work, torture
May 12, 2009
Tell Me What Kind of Blog Carnival You Want
Just a quick post to say that I think I'm just going to do the May Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse myself. Yeah, I know...May is already almost half over. Guess I've been busy. I've had some really intense torture trauma processing issues that have made it necessary for me to do three hours of therapy a week lately. Man, I'm beat!
Anyway, I think I'll have the carnival edition run on Friday, May 29 with a submission deadline of Wednesday, May 27. You can submit a post anytime, using the handy submission form here.
As far as an edition theme goes, since this is right after Memorial Day, maybe we should have a theme about "In memory of...our old victim status," or we could focus on memories and flashbacks. Or, we could talk about Mother's Day and how that holiday is difficult for survivors. We could talk about motherless children. We could focus on creating new families and becoming parents ourselves. Any ideas? What would you like to focus on?
Anyway, I think I'll have the carnival edition run on Friday, May 29 with a submission deadline of Wednesday, May 27. You can submit a post anytime, using the handy submission form here.
As far as an edition theme goes, since this is right after Memorial Day, maybe we should have a theme about "In memory of...our old victim status," or we could focus on memories and flashbacks. Or, we could talk about Mother's Day and how that holiday is difficult for survivors. We could talk about motherless children. We could focus on creating new families and becoming parents ourselves. Any ideas? What would you like to focus on?
Labels: advocacy, awareness, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, healing, memory work, therapy
June 10, 2008
Therapy for Everybody!
Well dang! I'm noticing that it's Tuesday already and I'm not quite getting that "aaahh, that's better" feeling; catching up on things with my son at his computer day camp this week. This morning, I felt quite stressed out, as a matter of fact. Seems I'm running from appointment to appointment and there isn't any big chunk of time in between for all that catching up on things I wanted to do.
Do you know? I'm in therapy...my son is in therapy...we're going to family therapy to work on communicating about our challenges and issues better....and even the dog is in therapy! Can you believe it? Seems like a little overkill doesn't it?
Well, I had to do something. We were reaching critical meltdown at the end of the school year: It seemed like every week I was getting a negative call from one of the teachers at my son's school; and my son and husband were yelling at each other; and I had to pull my dog off of some poor, unsuspecting walking dog on the bike path next to our house! Aaaaccckkkk! It was out of control!
It appears that trauma has even leaked over into the canine world around here. The pattern that I've picked up on is that my dog gets all stressed out, then aggressive with other female dogs.
See, there's this dog in the neighborhood that I've had problems with (well, her owner, actually). I've had several conversations with this dog's owner, to no avail. This other dog is also a female and is allowed to roam freely around the neighborhood. I'm surprised she hasn't been hit by a car by now. She also has a very territorial, "I'm-the-alpha-female-around-here" attitude. Unless I'm diligent and keep them apart, this other female nails my dog every time they come in contact with each other. There's never been any blood drawn or physical injuries. But, the trainer I'm taking my dog to now says she definitely thinks this other dog has traumatized my dog. Oh, goody!
Anyway, I took my dog, Lyla, to the trainer at 10:00 this morning. That made somewhere I had to be at 8:00, 9:00 and then 10:00 just so far today. Whew! I need a vacation!
In fact, I'm going to do that at the end of this month. I'm also thinking about just letting the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse go on Summer hiatus until the fall. Then, I've got some bloggy book tours I've promised to do. I'm hoping we can weave them into the blog carnival in some way. While we're taking a break, can I get some of you to sign up for monthly hosting slots in the fall? Start thinking about it, okay? Then, just leave a comment or e-mail me.
So, I called the doctor I've been working with on my TOC for my arm/shoulder and I cancelled my appointment for tomorrow. An appointment I can't cancel is with my T on Thursday. Yippy, skippy, oh boy! That surgery I had for the skin cancer has, apparently, dredged up an old torture/abuse memory that I need to work on. Maybe after that, I just might take a dissociative therapy hiatus as well.
What I'm really enjoying working on right now is a project I have in my yard. I'm doing all the design and landscaping work myself. I should have taken "before" pictures, because it's really amazing the changes that are occurring out there. We live in fairly new construction and all that was in my backyard was mulch before. There's a huge slope to my backyard, so all the wood chips have washed down to the fence at the edge of the yard--that left weeds and dirt! Lovely! So, now I'm building an enormous rock garden instead of a retaining wall, to keep everything from migrating down the slope. And I'm putting in a flagstone path with "stepable," ground-cover plants in between instead of a lawn I have to water and mow.
If I can figure out how to do it, I may post some photos of my project. I gotta say, I sure like this sort of work better than therapy!
Okay, so there's an updated blog post. And, I promise I will get around to some blogs this week. I will try my best to also catch up on some of the requests I've gotten in bloggy land. I also hope to do some house cleaning on my template. You know, links and stuff. BTW, does anybody know how to compress the archives for old blog posts? That sidebar list is getting a bit long, wouldn't you agree? Please don't anybody take it personally that I'm so far behind in cyber land. As you can see, there are many areas I need to catch up on, in addition to commenting at other blogs. I'm also behind on everything here at home. I've GOT to get to the grocery store and I estimate I have seven or eight loads of laundry to do. Loads number one and two are working in the washer and dryer as I blog now.
But, the Blog Carnival is on hold for a few months. I hope we can all live with that. Something's just gotta give, ya know? And I'm not willing for it to be my physical or emotional health.
See y'all around the blogosphere!
Do you know? I'm in therapy...my son is in therapy...we're going to family therapy to work on communicating about our challenges and issues better....and even the dog is in therapy! Can you believe it? Seems like a little overkill doesn't it?
Well, I had to do something. We were reaching critical meltdown at the end of the school year: It seemed like every week I was getting a negative call from one of the teachers at my son's school; and my son and husband were yelling at each other; and I had to pull my dog off of some poor, unsuspecting walking dog on the bike path next to our house! Aaaaccckkkk! It was out of control!
It appears that trauma has even leaked over into the canine world around here. The pattern that I've picked up on is that my dog gets all stressed out, then aggressive with other female dogs.
See, there's this dog in the neighborhood that I've had problems with (well, her owner, actually). I've had several conversations with this dog's owner, to no avail. This other dog is also a female and is allowed to roam freely around the neighborhood. I'm surprised she hasn't been hit by a car by now. She also has a very territorial, "I'm-the-alpha-female-around-here" attitude. Unless I'm diligent and keep them apart, this other female nails my dog every time they come in contact with each other. There's never been any blood drawn or physical injuries. But, the trainer I'm taking my dog to now says she definitely thinks this other dog has traumatized my dog. Oh, goody!
Anyway, I took my dog, Lyla, to the trainer at 10:00 this morning. That made somewhere I had to be at 8:00, 9:00 and then 10:00 just so far today. Whew! I need a vacation!
In fact, I'm going to do that at the end of this month. I'm also thinking about just letting the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse go on Summer hiatus until the fall. Then, I've got some bloggy book tours I've promised to do. I'm hoping we can weave them into the blog carnival in some way. While we're taking a break, can I get some of you to sign up for monthly hosting slots in the fall? Start thinking about it, okay? Then, just leave a comment or e-mail me.
So, I called the doctor I've been working with on my TOC for my arm/shoulder and I cancelled my appointment for tomorrow. An appointment I can't cancel is with my T on Thursday. Yippy, skippy, oh boy! That surgery I had for the skin cancer has, apparently, dredged up an old torture/abuse memory that I need to work on. Maybe after that, I just might take a dissociative therapy hiatus as well.
What I'm really enjoying working on right now is a project I have in my yard. I'm doing all the design and landscaping work myself. I should have taken "before" pictures, because it's really amazing the changes that are occurring out there. We live in fairly new construction and all that was in my backyard was mulch before. There's a huge slope to my backyard, so all the wood chips have washed down to the fence at the edge of the yard--that left weeds and dirt! Lovely! So, now I'm building an enormous rock garden instead of a retaining wall, to keep everything from migrating down the slope. And I'm putting in a flagstone path with "stepable," ground-cover plants in between instead of a lawn I have to water and mow.
If I can figure out how to do it, I may post some photos of my project. I gotta say, I sure like this sort of work better than therapy!
Okay, so there's an updated blog post. And, I promise I will get around to some blogs this week. I will try my best to also catch up on some of the requests I've gotten in bloggy land. I also hope to do some house cleaning on my template. You know, links and stuff. BTW, does anybody know how to compress the archives for old blog posts? That sidebar list is getting a bit long, wouldn't you agree? Please don't anybody take it personally that I'm so far behind in cyber land. As you can see, there are many areas I need to catch up on, in addition to commenting at other blogs. I'm also behind on everything here at home. I've GOT to get to the grocery store and I estimate I have seven or eight loads of laundry to do. Loads number one and two are working in the washer and dryer as I blog now.
But, the Blog Carnival is on hold for a few months. I hope we can all live with that. Something's just gotta give, ya know? And I'm not willing for it to be my physical or emotional health.
See y'all around the blogosphere!
Labels: Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, dog training, issues, landscaping, memory work, skin cancer, therapy, TOC, trauma
July 09, 2007
Quick Update Before...
Well, I got a little bit behind on bloggy things with the 4th of July holiday, my son being home all the days long for summer vacation, and the distraction of this diet.
I'm pleased to say I'm holding at eight pounds lost. I've kept it off for over a week; no weight gain returning so far. (I'm no longer on this diet, but I've been making some "lifestyle" eating changes--that's what they say is the best strategy, right?) The thing that impressed me the most about this colon cleanse and diet (in addition to the fabulous relief of not feeling bloated all the time anymore) is the inches that melted away. On this program, they want you to measure yourself in the beginning and then again on day 11. In my last post I mentioned what I shock I had with measuring myself for the first time in years. On day 11, however, I got such a pleasant surprise!
I wouldn't have thought it possible in only 10 days with just eight pounds lost, but I got rid of some girth! I lost a half-inch each on my upper arms and bust; there was 3/4 of an inch each off my chunky upper thighs and waist; and most impressive of all--drum roll, please--was an inch and a 1/2 off my hips (including the lovely "love handle" area and gut). I still was not quite believing this until I noticed the change in how some of my clothes feel. Ya know, the clothes don't lie. Now, I can pull my waist band out from around my tummy like those models on the commercials do, and I've noticed some loose material around the rear end of my pants and shorts. Hooooraaayy!
Okay, enough about that. Thanks for indulging me.
The other thing that happened was the old, familiar survivor pattern that goes something like this: "Hey, you're feeling so much better, so good right now. You're probably up for a new abuse memory. You can handle it. Check it out!" Then, WHAM! A new part or memory taps me on the shoulder (or, more likely, bangs me over the head or kicks me in the ass). I may do a post on this therapy work later. Luckily, my cooperative part (her name is Samantha), my therapist and I did some great feelings work together and I feel better again. Thankfully, there is often relief after the hard recovery work.
Now, another update is that we still don't have a host for the July Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse. As survivors, we all need to keep learning and practicing our assertiveness skills and self-care. The blogger that I thought might step up and take over July has decided to take care of herself instead, and I commend her for that. Be looking in your e-mail inbox. I'm going to be sending out a memo to all carnival participants to give a "last-chance-for-first-time-hosts" invitation to everyone who has not already told me they cannot-at-this-time host or would like to host, but at a later date. If I don't get any takers on that, I'll be handing the July edition over to a previous host--Lisa at Sadly Normal and Megan at Imaginif have both offered.
Speaking of Megan and the carnival, Megan has tagged me with a meme. I know, I know: I haven't gotten around to a couple of the memes circulating as of late. This one, however, is something I've just got to participate in because it's a bloggers-changing-the-world sort of meme. Like The Thinking Blogger, this is also an award. I am almost speechless I'm so honored to receive this. Thank you, Megan, for nominating me--and recognizing the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse--for and with this award! It's called Bloggers For Positive Global Change, and I'll be tagging five bloggers with it as I post this meme tomorrow. My son is at a three-day camp so I'll have time to do this. I've just got to narrow down my list to five. See ya then! :)
I'm pleased to say I'm holding at eight pounds lost. I've kept it off for over a week; no weight gain returning so far. (I'm no longer on this diet, but I've been making some "lifestyle" eating changes--that's what they say is the best strategy, right?) The thing that impressed me the most about this colon cleanse and diet (in addition to the fabulous relief of not feeling bloated all the time anymore) is the inches that melted away. On this program, they want you to measure yourself in the beginning and then again on day 11. In my last post I mentioned what I shock I had with measuring myself for the first time in years. On day 11, however, I got such a pleasant surprise!
I wouldn't have thought it possible in only 10 days with just eight pounds lost, but I got rid of some girth! I lost a half-inch each on my upper arms and bust; there was 3/4 of an inch each off my chunky upper thighs and waist; and most impressive of all--drum roll, please--was an inch and a 1/2 off my hips (including the lovely "love handle" area and gut). I still was not quite believing this until I noticed the change in how some of my clothes feel. Ya know, the clothes don't lie. Now, I can pull my waist band out from around my tummy like those models on the commercials do, and I've noticed some loose material around the rear end of my pants and shorts. Hooooraaayy!
Okay, enough about that. Thanks for indulging me.
The other thing that happened was the old, familiar survivor pattern that goes something like this: "Hey, you're feeling so much better, so good right now. You're probably up for a new abuse memory. You can handle it. Check it out!" Then, WHAM! A new part or memory taps me on the shoulder (or, more likely, bangs me over the head or kicks me in the ass). I may do a post on this therapy work later. Luckily, my cooperative part (her name is Samantha), my therapist and I did some great feelings work together and I feel better again. Thankfully, there is often relief after the hard recovery work.
Now, another update is that we still don't have a host for the July Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse. As survivors, we all need to keep learning and practicing our assertiveness skills and self-care. The blogger that I thought might step up and take over July has decided to take care of herself instead, and I commend her for that. Be looking in your e-mail inbox. I'm going to be sending out a memo to all carnival participants to give a "last-chance-for-first-time-hosts" invitation to everyone who has not already told me they cannot-at-this-time host or would like to host, but at a later date. If I don't get any takers on that, I'll be handing the July edition over to a previous host--Lisa at Sadly Normal and Megan at Imaginif have both offered.
Speaking of Megan and the carnival, Megan has tagged me with a meme. I know, I know: I haven't gotten around to a couple of the memes circulating as of late. This one, however, is something I've just got to participate in because it's a bloggers-changing-the-world sort of meme. Like The Thinking Blogger, this is also an award. I am almost speechless I'm so honored to receive this. Thank you, Megan, for nominating me--and recognizing the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse--for and with this award! It's called Bloggers For Positive Global Change, and I'll be tagging five bloggers with it as I post this meme tomorrow. My son is at a three-day camp so I'll have time to do this. I've just got to narrow down my list to five. See ya then! :)
Labels: blog carnivals, Bloggers For Positive Global Change, diet, meme, memory work, therapy, Thinking Blogger Awards, weight-loss
June 15, 2006
Blog Carnival Child Sexual Abuse Survivor Story--Mine
I got the finalization instructions for posting our blog Carnival Against Child Abuse from Blog Carnival today. I'm going to be able to put in a new permalink for all the carnival links, so now I feel free to put up some other, newer posts. We're going to have at least 20 posts up for the first edition of our Carnival Against Child Abuse on Monday. I noticed as I was going through the submissions, however, that we only had a couple of survivor stories, while we have seven or eight each for "Healing & Therapy" and "Advocacy and Awareness." Yay for us; we're healing and raising awareness! Very important achievements.
I know it's hard to share the details of your personal survivor story. I'm finding it difficult myself, so I believe I will just share a couple of abuse accounts that I already have up on my dot com website, www.survivorscanthrive.com.
Please be careful! **TRIGGER WARNING for the FOLLOWING**
If you have DID, or some other type of dissociative disorder as I do (or PTSD), I recommend you read these accounts only while under the guidance of a trained mental health professional.
The Pink Towel
I know it's hard to share the details of your personal survivor story. I'm finding it difficult myself, so I believe I will just share a couple of abuse accounts that I already have up on my dot com website, www.survivorscanthrive.com.
Please be careful! **TRIGGER WARNING for the FOLLOWING**
If you have DID, or some other type of dissociative disorder as I do (or PTSD), I recommend you read these accounts only while under the guidance of a trained mental health professional.
The Pink Towel
My twin sister and I had just finished taking our bedtime baths. I'm sitting on my bed, carefully smoothing down the pink towel that will protect my pillow from my wet hair during the night. But, there is no one to protect me from the night's inevitable sexual abuse.
I turn to see who has just entered the room. It's my father and he's already unzipped his trousers. He grabs me by the shoulders, turning me toward him and guiding my mouth over his penis. As my father begins to thrust, I close my eyes and my body vanishes. Only my ears remain; they are calmly listening to my sister and mother continuing the bedtime routine in the bathroom just across the hall. Mommy turns on the water in the bathroom sink. Sister brushes her teeth.
By the time my twin spits out the toothpaste, our father is finished. It has been quiet and "uneventful," this routine act of bedtime oral abuse. Tonight I have complied quietly and Daddy is happy. Only a small drop of semen has escaped from my mouth. My father smiles and wipes the little trickle from my cheek. He offers me his finger and I automatically, dutifully, lick it clean. It takes just a moment more for Daddy to slip the towel from my pillow, wipe himself off, zip up his pants and exit the room.
A split second later, my mother glides into the room like June Cleaver. Her cheerful, sing-song voice jolts me out of my dissociated stupor. "What did you do with your towel?" Mommy chides. She doesn't wait for an answer. "C'mon, hurry up and brush your teeth for bed." Unfortunately, my mother follows me into the bathroom. I brush my teeth with a sharp eye on the white porcelain of the sink. I hope I that I can be quick if I spit out a dark, curly hair, so I can flush it down the sink before Mommy sees.
"Please," I pray inside my head. "Don't let Mommy find out what I did with Daddy tonight. Please, God, don't let Mommy tell me what a bad, dirty, evil girl I am."
Copyright 2005 by Marj McCabe. All Rights Reserved.
A Fear of Plastic Shower Curtains
"I'm cold, Daddy," I whine. I'm standing, naked, on the little throw rug in the middle of the bathroom floor. "Come on in, then," says the voice behind the shower curtain. "The water's warm," my father informs.
I hate being cold. Cold equals fear. Showers mean fear, too. What should I do? I dread having to join my father in the shower, but I know I must delay no longer. If I don't hurry, Daddy will get mad, or at least jump out of the shower and twist my cold, hard little nipples.
I move forward and gingerly pull back the shower curtain as if it's made out of rotting flesh. As I step into the tub, my eyes dart around. Everything in here scares me: the smell of the plastic shower curtain liner; the feel of the cold, hard porcelain bathtub and metal plumbing fixtures; and most of all, the sight of my naked father, with his dripping wet penis and icky, matted pubic hair. I know he wants oral sex; I especially hate it in the shower. Daddy always stays right under the shower head. Between the water in my nose and his penis in my mouth, I'm always afraid I'm going to smother.
As soon as Daddy directs my head under the coursing water and toward his privates, I start to flail. My hair gets wet immediately, streaming into my eyes. Daddy pulls too hard and my nose plunges into the wet, sticky mass of hair around his penis. I start to panic and blindly grab for support to ensure my footing and help me get away. Even in my terror, I can remember how painful it can be to hit my head, arm or knee on the faucet, so I stay clear of that obstacle. But, the tub is slick and I'm going down. I remember this pain as well--red, stinging knees battered against the tub. I grope for the shower curtain to pull myself back up to standing. I hear a couple of the curtain's fasteners snap and fly off.
Up to this point, I've no idea what my father's reaction is to my panic. He has probably been simply regarding me with mild amusement. He is often amused by my terror. This time--I guess it is because I've damaged the shower curtain--Daddy is enraged. He grabs me by the throat and pulls me up to his face. His eyes are hot and bulging. "You think that's going to save you?" he demands. "You think this is safe, do you?" He drops me back down to the porcelain and snatches a handful of plastic curtain.
Daddy yanks me up by the throat again and thrusts my little body between the waterproof curtain liner and the outside fabric of the shower curtain. He takes a hand and pushes the plastic against my face. The water provides a seal and the waterproof fabric stays in place. I don't dare attempt to remove it. "There. How do you like that?" my father goads. He gathers the air-tight material close around my neck for further effect.
I do not respond or react in any way to his question; I don't even hear him anymore. Through the translucent fabric, my eyes fix on the bathroom window. A voice in my mind tells me, "Go to the light." And I am gone.
Copyright 2005 by Marj McCabe. All Rights Reserved.
Labels: abuse, advocacy, awareness, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, blog carnivals, child abuse, childhood sexual abuse, memory work, survivors, Survivors Can Thrive, triggers
