October 28, 2010
A Big Milestone & A Big Decision
But, I have also made a big decision. So, on that anniversary celebration day, I will also be sad. I've decided that, on that day, I will write my last official post for this blog.
I've been thinking about it for a while now, but I didn't want to make this decision final--much less announce it--until I had someone to take over for me as the blogger who maintains The Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse. I've asked Tracie at the FromTracie blog to let me pass the blog carnival baton to her. She thought it over for a while and has now agreed! Yay, Tracie! I know you will do an excellent job running the carnival.
Splinty, (Splinteredones over at Twitter) who runs the SPLINTEREDONE'S BLOG, has committed to hosting the November edition of our carnival. I will make sure to help Tracie and Splinty organize, promote and run this carnival edition, whether it takes place before or after my November 14 anniversary/last-official-blog-post date. As I told Tracie in a recent e-mail, I will continue--especially for the first several months of transition time--to help her with any maintenance issues, promote the carnival over at Twitter (although I'll continue to reduce my presence there) and even submit some old posts I have in my SurvivorsCanThrive coffers to monthly editions.
I will not be pulling down my blog or my Survivors Can Thrive! dot com site. I will leave them both up indefinitely. I want them to remain available on the Internet as a resource for anyone who might be able to use them. I will restrict my blog posting, however, to a once-in-a-while personal journal entry when I'd like to scratch out a therapy poem or otherwise hit the keys to do my journaling rather than put pen to paper the old-fashioned way. That is what "blog" stands for after all: web log, as in journal. I know a lot of folks who use their blog simply as an online journal, and I think I will now be okay with that for myself, rather than feeling any pressure to post weekly or on any kind of timeline at all.
The thing that I will be the most sad about--severely restricting my presence in the blogosphere--is not spending more time with my bloggy buddies and advocating for child abuse prevention and survivors. Over the last five years, the people I have met through blogging have become quite important to me, in addition to my ability to stop the silence, silence the shame, and break the cycle of child abuse.
But, in the midst of my sadness, I will also be celebrating. Not only will I be celebrating the work that I've done here at Survivors Can Thrive! and the wonderful survivors and survivor advocates I have met along the way, but I will also be celebrating my journey toward thriving and where it is now leading me. I think the journey to becoming a Thriver is somewhat similar to the goal of becoming more Christlike or being more like The Buddha. It is probably not something that many of us actually completely achieve in this lifetime, but it is something that we can make strides toward every day. This is where I am on my Survivor-to-Thriver path.
I will continue my therapy and working toward achieving Thriver status. But, now that I am finally feeling like I truly am thriving more every day, I will stop and take time to enjoy the things that make me feel like I'm thriving. Right now, a big one of those things is my work toward my certificate in botanical illustration. I am about a third of the way through the educational program at The Denver Botanic Gardens and I've got my work in a show for the first time ever. I'm hoping to continue to show my work in exhibits more down the road. And, eventually, (in addition to completing my portfolio and earning my certificate) I hope to start making some sales. *fingers crossed*
So, folks, the bottom line is that I don't know whether or not I will ever finish writing the book that I began, with the working title of "Survivors Can Thrive!" I want to see where this botanical illustration path will lead me. And, I'm feeling more comfortable right now with the decision to use my creative energy and time (that I would have put into finishing my book) for becoming a professional botanical illustrator. What this will, hopefully, mean (and I've had a lot of folks ask me what this will mean) is that I may, some day, have some of my illustrations published in a book similar to this Plant Select Guide. And/or, I may illustrate some seed packets for a company such as Botanical Interests, who uses illustrations instead of photographs for their plant seed products. Maybe some day I will even get represented by a gallery, have my own one-woman shows, and sell framed illustrations and prints made from my original works, just like one of my instructors who has this website. She is an awesome artist and so inspiring to me!
As you can probably tell, I'm very excited about this. And--even if I'm illustrating plants instead of blogging and otherwise writing--I will continue working every day toward thriving. It's the same journey, just down a different path now. Thank you all for your readership, support, bloggy and tweety friendship, and survivor solidarity, as well as your commitment, involvement and promotion of The Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse over these last five years. It's not even possible that I would have come this far on my Survivors Can Thrive! journey without all of you and I am truly grateful. During the next three weeks and before I write my last official blog post, I will come over to visit your blogs and thank you personally for everything you have done for and with me in bloggyland.
In the meantime, don't just survive...bloom, grow, THRIVE! ;)
Labels: advocacy, anniversary, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, child abuse prevention, gratitude, healing, inspiration, self-help books, Survivors Can Thrive, therapy, thriver
January 28, 2008
My Legacy of Shame--Thanks, Mom!
I've really been struggling with my mother's involvement in my childhood abuse. This struggle has been major for me during the last couple of years. Even though my father sexually abused me and my twin in just about every way one could imagine--even though he almost killed me, because he was a psycho, raging maniac--I'm almost tempted to say that his behavior damaged me less than my mother's did.
I've had this prickly, gnawing, suspicious feeling about this for these two years now. Sometimes I can't get my brain around it at all, other times it just seems downright crazy. Then, I started reading about maternal bonding, attachment and attunement. I believe that none of these states were ever achieved between my mother and my infant self. I am absolutely convinced of this. Then, Scaer talks in his book about "the influence of maternal behavior and bonding on the ability of the developing infant to achieve optimal states of self-regulation in the face of arousal in later life."
I was set up! Almost from the moment of my birth, I was groomed to be traumatized and dissociate in the face of my abuse.
One particular book passage really hit me hard. Have you ever heard of the concept of "conservation-withdrawal?" In a healthy family, this is a normal developmental process in which a baby can safely explore, then find a safe place where it can regroup and then go out and explore and gain new experiences again.
Scaer says, "If bonding has been successful, this limit-setting behavior and the infant's withdrawal response will continue to foster the development of the reflex regulatory skills that control the infant's ability to handle arousal and stress in an appropriate, healthy fashion."
Then, there's the classic line, "on the other hand..." There it was on page 121. I had to read it a couple of times. *blink*
When speaking of this concept of conservation-withdrawal, Scaer describes, "During this state, the infant averts its face, hangs its head, and becomes relatively immobile."
Whoa. As I read this, I'm thinking, "I do this now! I always do this!"
Am I an infant? Why do I still do this?
I highlighted this next part, and put a big asterisk next to it. "If maternal/infant misattunement is present, especially in the case of the mother's excessive use of shame-inducing limitations, the infant will begin to retreat more frequently into the state of conservation-withdrawal and may develop lifelong behavioral patterns that mimic this state when stressed."
Oh, I see.
Scaer goes so far as to say, "Conservation-withdrawal is the earliest manifestation of dissociation, which if perpetuated becomes a lifelong tendency in the face of threat or stress." (The emphasis here is mine.) He continues, "In the day-to-day life of the child, repeated retreat into states of shame presents as repetitive dissociative symptoms..."
Yeah. And I would add, in the day-to-day life of the adult abuse survivor, too!
I noticed this happening just the other day. It was over some slight--some slightly disrespectful remark that left me feeling rejected. I immediately looked away, hung my head and slumped away. I don't often allow myself to do this in front of others, but I always, eventually become immobile. I'll go into my bedroom and sit or lie down and then just stare off in a stupor.
I was explaining all this to my T. I remembered a line from a poem I wrote. There was something in there about "my empty, blank stare." I found the poem. Here it is:
Safe in My Pillow
I’m diving into my pillow
It’s the only safe harbor I know
Hidden away in my pillow
The terror and anguish don’t show
I’m becoming a part of my pillow
Like a turtle pulling into its shell
Scratching and clawing for my pillow
You can’t drag me into your hell
And if you take me away from my pillow
You won’t know that I’m really not there
I just send my mind to my pillow
It’s behind my empty, blank stare
I know I can trust in my pillow
How my pillow’s safe comfort warms
Like a soft, warm body, my pillow
I pretend it’s a mother’s loving arms
You’ll never really reach me in my pillow
Though my body you’ll batter and harm
This little girl’s all nestled in her pillow
While outside rages the storm
I’ll just stay here, thank you, in my pillow
You can all just call me insane
It’s my own little world, my pillow
While out in your world a nightmare reigns
Years fly by while I fly in my pillow
It starts to feel lonely and cold
I peek out from under my pillow
How did I get to be so old?
You say I must venture from my pillow
I’ve got to come out and face a new world
How can I let go of my pillow?
Can’t you see I’m still a scared little girl?
Copyright 2003 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved
The funny thing is, my stare isn't blank or empty at all. It's full of shame.
I have a legacy of shame. It seems, no matter how much therapy I do, it is always with me. It's the shame of believing to my core that I am not worth existing, not worth being alive. Logic tells me this is not right. But, I don't believe it.
One of the first self-help books I ever read--back before I even knew I was an incest survivor--was John Bradshaw's Healing The Shame That Binds You. Wow. That book was published back in 1988. Maybe I need to go back and read it again.
Labels: attachment, bonding, dissociation, John Bradshaw, poem, Poetry, Robert Scaer, self-help books, self-worth, shame, therapy, trauma
January 10, 2007
Happy New Year & What's Happening
As I was still between therapists, I thought working with some of my survivor workbooks might help me. I dug out my old The Courage To Heal. After doing a few exercises, I decided to take another flip through the whole book. I then decided to put it down, because I didn't see enough stuff on dissociation in there. (I don't think they talked about the subject much back when the book was published.) I've come to the conclusion that dissociation is a key issue for me...and I need to look at it.
It's an issue I feel I finally need to really face and look at honestly. (That's the main reason I've come to feel that it was a blessing in disguise that I lost my therapist--he really had very little experience in dissociative issues and we never really addressed it in therapy).
So, I put good ole TCTH down and looked into The Stranger In The Mirror instead. I realized I had barely skimmed the book since I've owned it. This time, I dove into it with my highlighter marker. I decided to take the dissociation scale "tests" in each chapter...and be very honest with my answers. When I did the interview developed by Colin A. Ross and got the DDNOS diagnosis, I wasn't as honest as I needed to be. Anything that seemed too "out there" I flatly denied. I've been in denial about a lot of things for a long time.
I still may end up with the vague DDNOS--the ever-popular Dissociative Disorder Not Otherwise Specified-- but I want all the issues to come out so I can get help with them. I've been wanting to get as much info as I can, because I was (am) really starting to fear I might have full-blown DID.
I still have never found any items in my possession that I have not known where they came from. And, as an adult anyway, there is not a lot of amnesia.
I called my twin sister to talk about it. I was afraid she would freak out and just not want to discuss such a thing. She surprised me by being very calm and open. She admitted that she had greeting cards and florists cards in her memento box from a man named, um, let's say Phil, who she didn't know. I had never heard of Phil either. WHOA!!
And my sister said that when she met me down in Arizona that time (during one of my dissociative fugue periods) she really didn't know me. HA! I could say the same for her on numerous occasions. I wonder if dissociation has a lot to do with her extreme volatile behavior that I've witnessed at times. Hhhmmmmmmm...
My dissociative fugues do seem quite severe and disturbing to me. Probably the scariest one was when I ended up lost and had to spend the night in the mountains of the National Forest with no food or water...not even a jacket. I'm sure at some points I was just running blind--a storm came up, the lightning scared the hell out of me, and I was soaked to the skin with the rain--but I think there were other points when I thought I'd just make it over that next pass and start a new life there. I also have other brief snippets where I think I was convinced my father was chasing me and was going to kill me. Whew, I feel weird admitting these details.
The amnesia I have in between the time I was soaking wet (I do recall the sound of water squishing in my shoes) and then completely dry is amazing to me. I mean, by the time I had any awareness of where I was, I was totally dry--no dampness at all! And by noon the next day, it was obvious that I had completely underestimated how long it would take me to get out and find the road. I must have really wandered a long way before I stopped when it got dark. The Search And Rescue team that was looking for me must have really underestimated the distance as well. They never even came close to finding me (in the end, I found the road myself).
Then there are the trips to Arizona. I assumed new identities both times (I've never admitted that to anyone before). The first time I was Ellen Hopkins, then Ellen Murphy. I was really sure--or at least there was some part of me that was certain, at least most of the time--that I was going to start a new life down there. I think I oscillated between this plan and thinking that being away from home, where nobody I knew could find me, was a good place to commit suicide.
My twin said she didn't even know who I was down there. I don't know why she never told me that before. I wonder how many times my husband hasn't known who the hell I am...and he's never told me.
I still carry so much shame about those Arizona trips. You see, I stayed in domestic violence ("battered women") shelters for at least part of the time on both occasions. I'm so afraid they're gonna come and arrest me for using those services when that wasn't really my situation. I can't remember which trip it was, but one of those times I vaguely remember crying on the phone to some kind intake person. It's so freaky: It was like I could hear myself crying and talking, but it wasn't really me, and I wasn't in control.
I've always said I'm a terrible liar and I'm no actress. But, I cried those tears and I think I really was very scared and freaked out. I was really running from something--it just wasn't some husband or boyfriend who was beating me up.
My sister explained some details that occurred in Arizona during the trip that she witnessed. I have no memory of some of the stuff. So, I guess there's some amnesia there as well.
The point is, the dissociative fugues have been major for me. And it feels like there's been more than one "part" of me involved--definitely things that I don't think I felt in control of. And here's the thing that I've needed to admit: I'm still doing it!
Shit! I've got to take a deep breath here. I'm going to have to admit this next part to my new therapist (I start with someone new tomorrow. I'm scared as hell but trying to remain hopeful). I don't know if I can admit this to my husband.
When I left on Thanksgiving, it was a plan to leave my husband. I think it was another version--some long, drawn out form--of some kind of fugue. It was my plan, again, to start a new life. I had made up my mind that, if I couldn't find a job, I would just try to get on disability.
The thing is, though, that I've promised--we have a deal--that I will no longer try to kill myself, and I don't self-harm/scratch anymore, and I don't run away anymore. I can go away to a hotel or trauma program, but we need to tell my husband where so he doesn't worry. Then there's the worry and the promise never to do anything again that's like abandoning my son. God, I have so much guilt and shame about these things from the past! Aaahhh! Anyway, so the move-out plan was a way to start a new life but get around all these conditions.
I think it might be "derealization", I'm not sure, but I noticed a couple of times while I was in the hotel over the holiday season, that I just kinda "woke up" a few times and looked around confused. I would ask myself, "How did I get here? What am I doing here?"
Before I forget, I want to write about the paranoia. (This entry is lifted, pretty much straight out of my paper journal--sorry if it's rambly.) My sister said I was acting really paranoid in Arizona. I remember being surprised at how paranoid I felt a few times just recently down in Dallas, too.
I think the paranoia was one of the things that scared the shit out of me that I may actually be paranoid schizophrenic. Being "schizo" or "crazy" scares me way more than being DID...as much as that scares me.
I know that's why I wasn't totally honest on the Ross dissociative interview before. I've always been on the lookout for anything that would alert others that I'm crazy. That's why, when I used to self-harm, I never cut. I only scratched and I always did it in a hidden place, like under my hair. That's why, when I get my "fillers" going, repeating a phrase over and over in my head, if I'm reinforcing it by tapping out an accompanying beat with my finger or thumb, I always hide my hand.
I've been in such denial about my dissociation because I was so afraid I was just crazy (just like my homeless father). I so distinctly remember--about 12 years ago--first getting The Courage To Heal and reading some account of a survivor who floated out of her body and witnessed her molestation from the safe distance of her bedroom's ceiling light. At the time, I actually read that and said to myself, "Now that's crazy! I've never done anything like that!" Of course, that was way before I retrieved so many CSA memories--like the fact that I used to dissociate as a young child by pretending I was a turtle safe in my shell, and I would "go to the light" of the bathroom window during the extreme trauma of the abuse and near-death in the shower.
I guess I've been so afraid that my mother could be right: I just have some "chemical imbalance" (as she calls it) like my father. That evil woman! That would be so convenient for her! I don't want it to be anything "organic!" I want my diagnosis to be the result of human-inflicted trauma. YOU DID THIS TO ME!
But, the dissociation does scare me a lot. The voices are especially freaky. I guess that's another reason I thought I was schizo. (I mean no disrespect to individuals who have this disorder. I just have a hard time spelling the entire, correct term.) When I first noticed the voices, I downplayed them. (That's called "minimization," right?) "Oh, yes," I told myself, "this is just an example of those "old tapes" everyone talks about; those mean things my parents told me as a kid." I certainly do have these, like so many survivors do. If it's, "You're too sensitive," then it's my mother. "You're a piece of shit," is my father.
But this voice--these voices--are different. For one thing, they say things that my mother and father didn't say. Also, I don't hear my father's voice, or my mother's. Who is it? One voice is very mean, cruel and nasty, that's for sure.
And the thing that I've finally had to admit is that sometimes...someone answers back! And it's not always the same type of response or the same "person" answering back, either. Sometimes it's a scared little girl who is all apologetic: "Okay. I'm sorry." Other times, it's an in-your-face, angry teenager: "Just shut up!" Other times (I've noticed more recently) it's a wise, calm voice of someone aware: "Now, that's not helpful. We're not going to talk like that."
Then there are the regressions. I've noticed these for a long time (six or seven years). It's one of the reasons I feel compelled to run away sometimes--I don't want my son to see me in that state. I used to think of them all as strictly flashbacks. But, I'm coming to realize that some of the regressions don't seem to be related to any memory at all.
When I was reading "Stranger," one regression caught me by surprise. I was sitting on the bed in the hotel and my butt started getting numb, so I decided to take a break and get something to drink. Of course, to be honest, there was a fear factor. I was just about to take the "Identity Confusion" test in the book. I was standing in my hotel room's kitchenette and I started to unravel.
Sometimes, I can almost, literally, feel myself getting small. I quickly ran back to the bed and grabbed my cozy blanket and stuffed animal. I began to rock. This is not unusual. What happened next most definitely was.
I could hear someone saying, "I no bad girl. I good girl. Please, no. No hurt. No, no, no!" I could feel my lips moving, but it wasn't really me.
Just as I was trying to be present in some way and wrap my brain around what was happening, I heard another voice. This one was inside my head. My lips weren't moving this time and the voice was new to me. It was a young woman's voice. She very calmly and clearly stated, "Nina comes out when we're in the shower."
Whoa!! What?! Who the hell is Nina? I don't know who that is.
To tell the truth, on and off now for a while, I've half expected to discover "personalities" and expected them to have the inner child names I "came up with" when I was doing inner child work with a therapist back in Illinois. There's Tina. She's tiny--maybe two or three. There's Marsha; a little bit older, I think. Then, there's Sarah. She's about eight and is starting to get very cynical and mistrusting. She's always on guard. I think Rena is a rebellious teenager, and then there's Samantha who is older--a young woman. I've never let myself get to know Rena or Samantha much. Honestly, Rena scares the crap out of me.
But, this Nina? I have no idea who she is at all. I can, however, guess why her name ends in "A" like all the others. My twin sister's name ends in "A." She got the pretty goddess name and I got stuck with the old lady name, Marjorie. I've always hated that name. Marj is better, but I've never really liked it either.
Then there's the "person" who absolutely hates my husband. I feel so guilty about it. He's been so loyal and good to me. I hate to admit any part hates him. But, it's important. I just know this person had a major role in the "leaving my husband" plan. It was very frightening the other night. Back here at home now, I woke up about four in the morning. This in itself is not unusual when I'm going through a period of not sleeping well. What was freaky was that I awoke and immediately felt like someone else. I've never been aware of anything like this before. It's a weird thing to wake up to/with.
This person who I was realized she was lying next to my husband. She hates him! She doesn't want to be here. Here's what kinda went on in my head following: "OK. Get a grip. I'm not going to fly out of this bed and run away at 4:00 a.m. Shit! This is why I was in the hotel. I'm trapped in this place! OK. Calm down. Who is this?" It wasn't like I was asking anyone. I was just thinking, and trying to figure it out, right?
My answer came when I had a thought: "It's Lisa." I didn't hear any voice this time. It was just me coming up with a logical choice of who it could be. But, Lisa? Who the hell is she? Well, I don't know at the moment. But, thankfully, I think I've found a skilled therapist who knows about dissociation. With her help, I feel hopeful. I feel hopeful that, whoever Lisa (or Nina) is, she can help me more than hurt me.
I'm not going to turn away this time. I'm not going to turn on my brain "fillers" and say, "La, La, La! I can't hear you!" I'm going to listen and find out, finally, who I really am, what I'm dealing with, and where I'm going. I hope there are still some blogger friends out there, hanging on, and willing to be with me for what is probably going to be a very long, strange trip.
My new therapist does not seem afraid, freaked out, or intimidated at all by any of this. I've had a few phone conversations and two face-to-face interviews with her. She seems up to the task. That's why I've chosen her. She also seems very understanding, compassionate and optimistic. I really need that type of help right now. She says that I've always had help and I'm lucky that way. She says I've created my own help...and that's a good thing. I'm gonna try my best to start seeing it that way.
Labels: alters, awareness, child abuse, child parts, DID, dissociation, grounding, holidays, inner child, safety, self-help books, self-injury, system, therapy, trauma processing, triggers
