August 09, 2010
Set-Back Subsiding? An Update
Thank you, sweet bloggy friends, for your support on my last post. Wow! That was a rough one. I was basically out of commission entirely for about three days, then another couple of days were needed to get back more completely to myself. It was the most dissociated I've been for quite a while. The good news is that I didn't run away or act out in any bizarre, alienating ways, freaking out family and friends around me. What I did instead is just hunker down and lay low for a while. I slept a lot and I attempted a lot of comforting. Today was the first day when it felt like the comforting was actually getting through.
It's ironic because I was just talking to my T about getting back to weekly therapy appointments so that we can work on the "Annual Fall Freak-out" issues. I was hoping--with a lot of work--that I'd get by relatively unscathed this year, starting when the kids go back to school. This dentist freak-out incident doesn't leave me feeling too confident about that anymore.
But, back to what happened at the dentist's office. The long and short of the matter is that this dentist started in on a procedure, but didn't warn me of what he was going to do. This was after getting up my nerve again to get into his office after about three years. We've been trying to figure out what was causing so much pain for me. I was feeling like a hypochondriac while we were trying to solve this dental mystery. I knew that I had cracks in my teeth (from clenching them) and I've been wearing a night guard for three years to help with that. But, I didn't know what was causing such extreme pain in this one location.
Well, come to find out, I have a deep crack in one of my teeth that goes completely across the entire tooth. We don't know for sure how deep it is. The dentist decided to fill this tooth, even though this particular tooth has never had a cavity. Instead of telling me this, he just goes in and starts causing pain in my gums.
I was like, "Uh, hello?! What is it exactly that you are doing right now?" He basically laughs off my question. He didn't throw is head back with a belly laugh, but he kinda scoffed and said something like, "Oh, that couldn't possibly have hurt much!" I wanted to slap the uncaring bastard across the face! He added, "I was just giving you a local anesthetic so that this shot of Novocain I'm about to give you won't hurt as much."
I said, "Listen! Not only do I have extreme dental fear and childhood trauma, I also have dental trauma. I have PTSD and a dissociative disorder. If you tell me what you are going to do before you do it, that will help a lot."
I should be proud of myself that I was assertive like that (although I was pissed that it became necessary for me to repeat my trauma story for like the millionth time with this thoughtless person who forgets and doesn't care, when I told my story and made my requirements abundantly clear before I ever allowed these people to touch me three years ago!) But, you know what? It was too late. The next thing I knew I was in a dissociative stupor. It was like I had fallen down a deep, black hole and I couldn't crawl back out.
It was a miracle I got myself back home. My son noticed how tranced out I was and asked, "Wow, Mom! What did they give you at the dentist's office? Some heavy drugs or something?" I said, "No. I'm just extremely dissociated." Then, I just crawled into bed and vegged out.
I want to tell this jerkoid dentist that he owes me at least three days of my damn life back!
I don't know what I'm going to do now. He says I need to put a crown over that cracked tooth or I could have an abscess or have to have a root canal...or I don't know what else he was rambling on about in a very put-fear-into-the-patient's-soul, very poor bedside manner sort of way. By then, I was already too far gone dissociatively speaking. I was basically a zombie by that time. All I really remember is repeating in my head over and over, "Just get the hell out of here and then you're never coming back!"
The real pisser about this whole situation is that this is the second dentist I've had trouble with in the last six years and both of them were specifically recommended to me by people in the field as dentists who had special training for trauma survivors and folks with extreme dental fear. I'd like to know how the sadistic jerks who don't have the appropriate training act and treat their patients! No. Never mind. I don't want to know.
It's ironic because I was just talking to my T about getting back to weekly therapy appointments so that we can work on the "Annual Fall Freak-out" issues. I was hoping--with a lot of work--that I'd get by relatively unscathed this year, starting when the kids go back to school. This dentist freak-out incident doesn't leave me feeling too confident about that anymore.
But, back to what happened at the dentist's office. The long and short of the matter is that this dentist started in on a procedure, but didn't warn me of what he was going to do. This was after getting up my nerve again to get into his office after about three years. We've been trying to figure out what was causing so much pain for me. I was feeling like a hypochondriac while we were trying to solve this dental mystery. I knew that I had cracks in my teeth (from clenching them) and I've been wearing a night guard for three years to help with that. But, I didn't know what was causing such extreme pain in this one location.
Well, come to find out, I have a deep crack in one of my teeth that goes completely across the entire tooth. We don't know for sure how deep it is. The dentist decided to fill this tooth, even though this particular tooth has never had a cavity. Instead of telling me this, he just goes in and starts causing pain in my gums.
I was like, "Uh, hello?! What is it exactly that you are doing right now?" He basically laughs off my question. He didn't throw is head back with a belly laugh, but he kinda scoffed and said something like, "Oh, that couldn't possibly have hurt much!" I wanted to slap the uncaring bastard across the face! He added, "I was just giving you a local anesthetic so that this shot of Novocain I'm about to give you won't hurt as much."
I said, "Listen! Not only do I have extreme dental fear and childhood trauma, I also have dental trauma. I have PTSD and a dissociative disorder. If you tell me what you are going to do before you do it, that will help a lot."
I should be proud of myself that I was assertive like that (although I was pissed that it became necessary for me to repeat my trauma story for like the millionth time with this thoughtless person who forgets and doesn't care, when I told my story and made my requirements abundantly clear before I ever allowed these people to touch me three years ago!) But, you know what? It was too late. The next thing I knew I was in a dissociative stupor. It was like I had fallen down a deep, black hole and I couldn't crawl back out.
It was a miracle I got myself back home. My son noticed how tranced out I was and asked, "Wow, Mom! What did they give you at the dentist's office? Some heavy drugs or something?" I said, "No. I'm just extremely dissociated." Then, I just crawled into bed and vegged out.
I want to tell this jerkoid dentist that he owes me at least three days of my damn life back!
I don't know what I'm going to do now. He says I need to put a crown over that cracked tooth or I could have an abscess or have to have a root canal...or I don't know what else he was rambling on about in a very put-fear-into-the-patient's-soul, very poor bedside manner sort of way. By then, I was already too far gone dissociatively speaking. I was basically a zombie by that time. All I really remember is repeating in my head over and over, "Just get the hell out of here and then you're never coming back!"
The real pisser about this whole situation is that this is the second dentist I've had trouble with in the last six years and both of them were specifically recommended to me by people in the field as dentists who had special training for trauma survivors and folks with extreme dental fear. I'd like to know how the sadistic jerks who don't have the appropriate training act and treat their patients! No. Never mind. I don't want to know.
Labels: aftermath, assertiveness, body connection, comfort, dental fear, dissociation, trance states, trust
December 19, 2007
Haunting My Halls: The Ghost of Christmas Past & Present
I don't know what the hell is going on. I've been trying to reach in and comfort those neglected child parts. I know I said that they keep slipping through my arms, but I really have been doing quite a bit to try to reach them. I do whatever I can to send them the message that they haven't been forgotten, that they are special and precious and that they deserve comfort, warmth, beauty, fun, etc.
I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I went out and bought a doll. She has been lovingly placed in a beautiful, antique doll carriage with cozy blankets and stuffed animals. I speak to her every day. I pat her, I sing to her. I rock her.
I've also had a big project I've been working on for the past several months. I built a dollhouse and I've been outfitting it to make it beautiful. Two little doll girls live in there with their very own angel. They have many toys and beautiful, comforting things around them.
The other day, I decided to go out and get some Christmas decorations for the dollhouse. Boy, did we have fun! We strung Christmas lights, put up a wreath, put up a beautiful treat-filled stocking at the fireplace mantel...and that's when I installed our angel.
I felt so much better after spending this special time with my child parts. Because the holidays are such a stressful time of year for me (with moments prone to running away, etc.) I've really upped my child comforting routine. I do a little meditation pretty much every day. It involves some stretching, grounding techniques and affirmations. Every day I affirm: "We are surrounded by love and beauty. We are enfolded in light and safety." I also always add, "I love you, my Beautifuls."
I've been spending a lot of time curled up in the rocking chair with a soft, cozy throw. I rock and use soothing words to my parts. I read them children's "love stories." We play with the dollhouse. As a little treat--just to show them they're special--I've been putting whipped cream on my coffee lately and dousing it with Christmas sprinkles.
I felt so good that I actually started getting into the Christmas spirit a bit. We got our tree up this weekend and I finished my Christmas shopping. All our holiday greeting cards went out. I was on such a roll that I went in and announced to my T on Monday that I wanted Thursday off. While I was feeling good, and even experiencing a bit of holiday cheer (a major thing to experience at all for me), I recognized that this week was going to be quite stressful. I wanted to avoid becoming overwhelmed before my son is off from school for sixteen days.
On the calendar this week, We had practice for a band concert, a dentist appointment for me, the holiday band concert itself (my son plays the sax), a hockey game, and volunteer work at a food bank. In addition, my son has five tests at school this week and a large writing assignment due. (Since he has a learning disability, his parents are highly involved in studying and assignment completion--we don't do the work for him, but we make sure it gets done and give him a lot of help with it.) I thought two therapy sessions this busy week before Christmas was too much for me.
My T and I had been working on rage. I've had a lot of good grieving going on, especially over my mother's involvement in my abuse. Lately, I've been asking my therapist for assistance on the accompanying rage, with tips on safe anger work. We made a good head start in my T's office on Monday, and then I came home and did some louder, more physical work down in my basement.
At first, I felt great! I congratulated all the parts who were involved and we had a little treat to reward ourselves for our hard work.
Then, the fatigue set in. I was exhausted! After my son came home from school, I told him I had to lie down for a while. Before I knew it, dinner was over and my husband was taking our son to band practice. I had been in bed for something like four hours. The funny thing was, I hadn't been sleeping. I dozed off a couple of times, but it was only for a matter of minutes. I started to get the distinct feeling that I was hiding in there. I was starting to feel some fear (I think from some parts) but I wasn't sure what it was about. Maybe they were scared that we were going to get in trouble for expressing the anger.
While my son was at his practice, I forced myself up and out of bed. I made myself a decadent meal of pizza and Coke and had some pudding (with whipped cream and sprinkles, of course) for dessert. I ate while I watched TV and enjoyed the lights of the Christmas tree. I felt pretty good by the time my boys arrived back home.
The next morning I got out of bed in time to see a beautiful sunrise. (This is often a difficult time for me and I've never been a "morning person.") I went to check my e-mail and found that, after I complained to my son's teacher, she had postponed one of the four tests he was to have Tuesday to Friday. Yay! This was great!
This good news didn't seem to help my son's mood at all. He bitched and moaned about various things and then was loud and disrespectful to me. I told him I was angry and gave him some consequence, but the plug had been pulled out of the bathtub, so to speak. I was already swirling head first down the drain. I tried talking it over with my husband and got some of my anger out. I thought I was feeling a bit better by the time he left the house for work.
Unfortunately, this was the same morning that I was supposed to go back into the dentist for some crack repair and to update the doc on how my night mouth guard is working out. I have my anti-anxiety medication, so I thought I could do it. But, why the hell did I think I could handle it the week before Christmas??!!! That didn't seem very smart. I guess I just wasn't thinking when the dentist's office set up the appointment right before we left for our cruise. I was feeling so good then.
But, now, I had been majorly triggered by my son. Damn it! Why do I have to work my ass off to get out of my comfort zone and make a happy Christmas for our little family when I HATE CHRISTMAS...and then I just get treated like shit??!!
Oh shit, the fear closed in fast. I didn't end up hiding in a closet this time, but I curled myself up on the floor next to the Christmas tree. Sometimes, if I just give in to this for a little while, I can feel better and get on with my day. Maybe it's because my limbs always fall asleep; I'm eventually forced up and on with my day. This time, an hour went by, more time went by, and nothing was happening.
Have you ever asked one of your parts to come out and do something for you?
This is what I started doing, down there on the floor. I started negotiating. "Anybody up to the task in here? I can't do this. Anybody feel strong enough to handle the dentist visit? Please, anybody?"
I got no auditory response. The only thing I felt was Serena creeping in. You remember Serena--she's the one who comes and keeps the body totally still so that there's no injury, suicide attempts or running away. I wasn't sure exactly why she thought it so important to move in, but she was the only one responding.
It was all I could do to get up off the floor to go to the bathroom and call the dentist's office to tell them I couldn't make it in. Then, I moved to the bed. I just let Serena take over. I slept a little bit. But, mostly I just lay there, or I sat there propped up on my pillows, and stared into space for hours.
My mind was still working. I thought about what I would have for lunch. But, more hours went by and I never ate anything. I didn't even have to pee anymore because I'd had barely anything to drink all day. I thought about some clothes I would throw on. I knew I wasn't up to a shower, but the clothes I could do, right? I thought about getting those clothes on and picking my son up at school. I thought about calling the school to tell him I wasn't coming. I ended up getting his call and explaining to him that I was dissociated and it wasn't safe for me to drive in that condition. He'd have to walk home. By this time, I'd been staring at the walls for at least four or five hours.
I had those thoughts, like I said. But, I just couldn't get Serena to budge. Soon, I was negotiating for anybody besides Serena to come out and do anything to make my body move. I have this meditation that I do to collect everybody into this safe place I've visualized and installed in my mind. I count down from ten, like I'm descending stairs, then I open the doors to the safe place and sometimes we do a roll call there. At the very least, I'll assist a part who's hurting. I'll lead them to the porch swing and put them in the arms of the angel there.
This time, I went "down" there and I announced: "It's my turn to sit on the porch swing. I'm coming in and I want somebody else to come out for a while. I can't do this today. Somebody else will have to do it." I feel like an idiot admitting this desperation, when I'm the one who's supposed to be in charge and I'm the one who's supposed to get us to all integrate and all that. Smart move, huh?
Well, when nobody but Serena responded, I got royally pissed! I yelled something like, "Life isn't all just dollhouses and porch swings and sprinkles!" I then visualized myself slamming the door on the safe place room and storming back up those ten stairs. I wanted to add, "Screw all of you!!!"
So, I stayed immobilized and staring for a total of about eight hours yesterday. I dragged myself out of bed just in time to throw on some clothes, barely brush my hair and brush my teeth before attending my son's band concert like the walking dead. I didn't talk to anyone there. There was such a crowd. Maybe nobody noticed.
I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I went out and bought a doll. She has been lovingly placed in a beautiful, antique doll carriage with cozy blankets and stuffed animals. I speak to her every day. I pat her, I sing to her. I rock her.
I've also had a big project I've been working on for the past several months. I built a dollhouse and I've been outfitting it to make it beautiful. Two little doll girls live in there with their very own angel. They have many toys and beautiful, comforting things around them.
The other day, I decided to go out and get some Christmas decorations for the dollhouse. Boy, did we have fun! We strung Christmas lights, put up a wreath, put up a beautiful treat-filled stocking at the fireplace mantel...and that's when I installed our angel.
I felt so much better after spending this special time with my child parts. Because the holidays are such a stressful time of year for me (with moments prone to running away, etc.) I've really upped my child comforting routine. I do a little meditation pretty much every day. It involves some stretching, grounding techniques and affirmations. Every day I affirm: "We are surrounded by love and beauty. We are enfolded in light and safety." I also always add, "I love you, my Beautifuls."
I've been spending a lot of time curled up in the rocking chair with a soft, cozy throw. I rock and use soothing words to my parts. I read them children's "love stories." We play with the dollhouse. As a little treat--just to show them they're special--I've been putting whipped cream on my coffee lately and dousing it with Christmas sprinkles.
I felt so good that I actually started getting into the Christmas spirit a bit. We got our tree up this weekend and I finished my Christmas shopping. All our holiday greeting cards went out. I was on such a roll that I went in and announced to my T on Monday that I wanted Thursday off. While I was feeling good, and even experiencing a bit of holiday cheer (a major thing to experience at all for me), I recognized that this week was going to be quite stressful. I wanted to avoid becoming overwhelmed before my son is off from school for sixteen days.
On the calendar this week, We had practice for a band concert, a dentist appointment for me, the holiday band concert itself (my son plays the sax), a hockey game, and volunteer work at a food bank. In addition, my son has five tests at school this week and a large writing assignment due. (Since he has a learning disability, his parents are highly involved in studying and assignment completion--we don't do the work for him, but we make sure it gets done and give him a lot of help with it.) I thought two therapy sessions this busy week before Christmas was too much for me.
My T and I had been working on rage. I've had a lot of good grieving going on, especially over my mother's involvement in my abuse. Lately, I've been asking my therapist for assistance on the accompanying rage, with tips on safe anger work. We made a good head start in my T's office on Monday, and then I came home and did some louder, more physical work down in my basement.
At first, I felt great! I congratulated all the parts who were involved and we had a little treat to reward ourselves for our hard work.
Then, the fatigue set in. I was exhausted! After my son came home from school, I told him I had to lie down for a while. Before I knew it, dinner was over and my husband was taking our son to band practice. I had been in bed for something like four hours. The funny thing was, I hadn't been sleeping. I dozed off a couple of times, but it was only for a matter of minutes. I started to get the distinct feeling that I was hiding in there. I was starting to feel some fear (I think from some parts) but I wasn't sure what it was about. Maybe they were scared that we were going to get in trouble for expressing the anger.
While my son was at his practice, I forced myself up and out of bed. I made myself a decadent meal of pizza and Coke and had some pudding (with whipped cream and sprinkles, of course) for dessert. I ate while I watched TV and enjoyed the lights of the Christmas tree. I felt pretty good by the time my boys arrived back home.
The next morning I got out of bed in time to see a beautiful sunrise. (This is often a difficult time for me and I've never been a "morning person.") I went to check my e-mail and found that, after I complained to my son's teacher, she had postponed one of the four tests he was to have Tuesday to Friday. Yay! This was great!
This good news didn't seem to help my son's mood at all. He bitched and moaned about various things and then was loud and disrespectful to me. I told him I was angry and gave him some consequence, but the plug had been pulled out of the bathtub, so to speak. I was already swirling head first down the drain. I tried talking it over with my husband and got some of my anger out. I thought I was feeling a bit better by the time he left the house for work.
Unfortunately, this was the same morning that I was supposed to go back into the dentist for some crack repair and to update the doc on how my night mouth guard is working out. I have my anti-anxiety medication, so I thought I could do it. But, why the hell did I think I could handle it the week before Christmas??!!! That didn't seem very smart. I guess I just wasn't thinking when the dentist's office set up the appointment right before we left for our cruise. I was feeling so good then.
But, now, I had been majorly triggered by my son. Damn it! Why do I have to work my ass off to get out of my comfort zone and make a happy Christmas for our little family when I HATE CHRISTMAS...and then I just get treated like shit??!!
Oh shit, the fear closed in fast. I didn't end up hiding in a closet this time, but I curled myself up on the floor next to the Christmas tree. Sometimes, if I just give in to this for a little while, I can feel better and get on with my day. Maybe it's because my limbs always fall asleep; I'm eventually forced up and on with my day. This time, an hour went by, more time went by, and nothing was happening.
Have you ever asked one of your parts to come out and do something for you?
This is what I started doing, down there on the floor. I started negotiating. "Anybody up to the task in here? I can't do this. Anybody feel strong enough to handle the dentist visit? Please, anybody?"
I got no auditory response. The only thing I felt was Serena creeping in. You remember Serena--she's the one who comes and keeps the body totally still so that there's no injury, suicide attempts or running away. I wasn't sure exactly why she thought it so important to move in, but she was the only one responding.
It was all I could do to get up off the floor to go to the bathroom and call the dentist's office to tell them I couldn't make it in. Then, I moved to the bed. I just let Serena take over. I slept a little bit. But, mostly I just lay there, or I sat there propped up on my pillows, and stared into space for hours.
My mind was still working. I thought about what I would have for lunch. But, more hours went by and I never ate anything. I didn't even have to pee anymore because I'd had barely anything to drink all day. I thought about some clothes I would throw on. I knew I wasn't up to a shower, but the clothes I could do, right? I thought about getting those clothes on and picking my son up at school. I thought about calling the school to tell him I wasn't coming. I ended up getting his call and explaining to him that I was dissociated and it wasn't safe for me to drive in that condition. He'd have to walk home. By this time, I'd been staring at the walls for at least four or five hours.
I had those thoughts, like I said. But, I just couldn't get Serena to budge. Soon, I was negotiating for anybody besides Serena to come out and do anything to make my body move. I have this meditation that I do to collect everybody into this safe place I've visualized and installed in my mind. I count down from ten, like I'm descending stairs, then I open the doors to the safe place and sometimes we do a roll call there. At the very least, I'll assist a part who's hurting. I'll lead them to the porch swing and put them in the arms of the angel there.
This time, I went "down" there and I announced: "It's my turn to sit on the porch swing. I'm coming in and I want somebody else to come out for a while. I can't do this today. Somebody else will have to do it." I feel like an idiot admitting this desperation, when I'm the one who's supposed to be in charge and I'm the one who's supposed to get us to all integrate and all that. Smart move, huh?
Well, when nobody but Serena responded, I got royally pissed! I yelled something like, "Life isn't all just dollhouses and porch swings and sprinkles!" I then visualized myself slamming the door on the safe place room and storming back up those ten stairs. I wanted to add, "Screw all of you!!!"
So, I stayed immobilized and staring for a total of about eight hours yesterday. I dragged myself out of bed just in time to throw on some clothes, barely brush my hair and brush my teeth before attending my son's band concert like the walking dead. I didn't talk to anyone there. There was such a crowd. Maybe nobody noticed.
Labels: child parts, Christmas, dissociation, overwhelm, parts, trance states
March 01, 2006
Sexual Abuse Survivors--Today is Self-Injury Awareness Day
Today, March 1st, is Self-Injury Awareness Day (SIAD). It is one of the major projects of the ASHIC, American Self-Harm Information Clearinghouse, www.selfinjury.org. The clearinghouse website debunks many of the myths surrounding self-injury (SI), also known as self-harm or self-mutilation. I've got some more SI links for you after my story.
I'm writing a new section of my survivor story. What a journey it has been. "What a long, strange trip it's been," the Grateful Dead sang. Indeed, it has been. I've started a new page on my website, www.survivorscanthrive.com, called "Strange Trip." You can find it under "My Story."
Since today is Self-Injury Awareness Day, I guess it's time to come clean about my own experience with SI. I have only indulged in this particular form of harming myself a handful of times. It's been the same every time. Always on the alert for any visible sign that might prove to others that I'm crazy, I've kept it well-hidden. I've always been afraid that someone's going to find out that I'm just as whacko as my father and lock me away. Therefore, I have never cut. I have always scratched and I've always done it somewhere that would not be very noticeable.
Hell, while we're discussing things that I'm ashamed of, I might as well weave my SI story into the time when I felt like I was abandoning my son. You see, during the most intense phases of my recovery work--when I was doing trauma processing with my therapist twice a week--I needed to have a safe place to get away and stay. I was sleeping at an extended stay suite at the time. I had my reasons for doing this.
My son, who has always been a very intense child, has sensory integration dysfunction. This leads to a lot of discomfort with strong reactions such as loud crying, screeching and yelling. During this period, this type of behavior from my son would launch me into full-blown flashbacks where I was witnessing the horror of my beloved, little twin sister being tortured and there was nothing I could do about it. At this time, my son's screams became the pleading, begging and whimpering of my sister. I just had to have a place of escape, where I could get grounded and keep safe.
During my time in the suite, I got a lot of therapy homework and exercises done, as well as much reading, research and writing of my book. (It will be published some day.) It was a productive time. It was also an excruciatingly lonely time for me.
One day, I felt particularly lonely and unloved. It happened to be my birthday. I was going to go to the house for a visit later on in the evening of my birthday anyway, so I decided to drive down a bit early. I remembered that my husband and my son had a play to go to or some such event. But, I reasoned, I could visit and play with my son and while they'd be gone, I could hang out, use the Internet access and celebrate when they returned.
When I arrived, I let myself into the house and announced, "Hey, I'm here!" No response. The house was very quiet, but I knew somebody was home. I peered into the kitchen. There were my husband and son sitting at the kitchen table. David appeared to be giving our son another lecture. They both looked up at me, but neither offered a greeting or got up to meet me. I could almost hear my heart drop, "Clunk!"
I glanced around the kitchen. There were no flowers, wrapped presents, balloons, or cute, little hand-made things from my young son. Nothing. I pretended I needed to go to the bathroom. I looked further around the house. I feigned thirst. I looked in the fridge. Nope. No cake in there either. There were no signs to indicate that they had any birthday celebrating planned. What?! Had they forgotten that it was my birthday? I felt lower than low. I felt completely unloved, alone and unlovable.
I went and hid in the bathroom (I did this a lot in my heavy dissociation days). I stayed there while the guys left for their event. Maybe they would grab some flowers and a little cake from the grocery store while they were out. No! I decided that would be too little, too late. I began to scream at myself while I hit myself in the head with the heel of my hand (another form of SI). "Stupid!" I yelled. "I am stupid and nobody loves me!" I decided I didn't want my son to see me go psycho. I also felt sure that he was better off without me.
I ran for the car and sped away. Luckily, this time, I did not run away; I didn't have to (my husband was paying for the hotel, my safe place). I went straight back to my little lonely suite. I did not bother to turn on any lights. I went into the bedroom and flung myself onto the floor in a dark, safe corner. There I stayed for a long time, curled up in the fetal position and rocking myself. I didn't want to feel anything. I wanted to disappear.
But, the negative self-talk that went on in my head was ruthless. The dark, the rocking, the safe corner, nothing could keep it at bay. It kept repeating mean things like, "Nobody loves you. You're not worth loving. You don't deserve to be happy."
After an unknown amount of time passed, I began to scratch. I found a place on my neck, under my hair and just below the hairline. I scratched rhythmically as I continued to rock myself. I scratched and scratched until I felt the warm, wet blood on my fingertips. "There, see?" I told myself. "I do bleed. I am alive. I matter...at least this much." This seemed to make the ruthless chatter subside.
After a while, I got up out of my corner to go to the bathroom. I turned on the light and saw the dried blood crusted under my fingernails. I immediately felt ashamed and shitty about myself. But, it was still better than how I had felt before I drew blood from my neck.
This was my last SI incident. It was over two years ago. This is my first detailed communication about it. I tried to tell someone about the SI once when I was hospitalized for my PTSD, but the person didn't take the time to listen. I looked at the note in my chart. It said, "Breaks her fingernails." I wanted to scream at this imbecile, "No! I use my fingernails to scratch my skin until I bleed!" I felt unheard and invalidated. I never attempted to broach the SI subject again.
Fortunately, the trauma processing I've done over the last couple of years seems to have targeted some of the old feelings of being worthless and invisible. I think that has carried over to my SI because I've had no temptation at all to do it. I hope that temptation never comes back.
Here are those SI links I promised. Two of the largest SI resources on the web are from the UK. The Self-Injury International Internet Service, www.siari.com.uk, says its the "largest self-injury resource on the web." Life SIGNS, www.lifesigns.org.uk, offers self-injury guidance and network support.
At the website www.psyke.org, you can find an SI forum with over 4,000 registered users. You can also post personal stories and poetry there. Recover Your Life, www.recoveryourlife.com, has an even larger forum, with over 7,000 members. This site offers live chat and live assistance and a first aid guide. You can also post biographies, artwork, photos, poetry and lyrics there.
I do not see self-injury as being the same thing as attempts at suicide. This suicide prevention site, however, has a large SI resource area. The organization is called Befrienders at www.befrienders.org. Their motto: "Reduce suicide worldwide with 31,000 volunteers in 40 countries." Suicide is an issue for survivors, whether they self-harm or not. So, I post this site here.
Copyright 2006 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved
I'm writing a new section of my survivor story. What a journey it has been. "What a long, strange trip it's been," the Grateful Dead sang. Indeed, it has been. I've started a new page on my website, www.survivorscanthrive.com, called "Strange Trip." You can find it under "My Story."
Since today is Self-Injury Awareness Day, I guess it's time to come clean about my own experience with SI. I have only indulged in this particular form of harming myself a handful of times. It's been the same every time. Always on the alert for any visible sign that might prove to others that I'm crazy, I've kept it well-hidden. I've always been afraid that someone's going to find out that I'm just as whacko as my father and lock me away. Therefore, I have never cut. I have always scratched and I've always done it somewhere that would not be very noticeable.
Hell, while we're discussing things that I'm ashamed of, I might as well weave my SI story into the time when I felt like I was abandoning my son. You see, during the most intense phases of my recovery work--when I was doing trauma processing with my therapist twice a week--I needed to have a safe place to get away and stay. I was sleeping at an extended stay suite at the time. I had my reasons for doing this.
My son, who has always been a very intense child, has sensory integration dysfunction. This leads to a lot of discomfort with strong reactions such as loud crying, screeching and yelling. During this period, this type of behavior from my son would launch me into full-blown flashbacks where I was witnessing the horror of my beloved, little twin sister being tortured and there was nothing I could do about it. At this time, my son's screams became the pleading, begging and whimpering of my sister. I just had to have a place of escape, where I could get grounded and keep safe.
During my time in the suite, I got a lot of therapy homework and exercises done, as well as much reading, research and writing of my book. (It will be published some day.) It was a productive time. It was also an excruciatingly lonely time for me.
One day, I felt particularly lonely and unloved. It happened to be my birthday. I was going to go to the house for a visit later on in the evening of my birthday anyway, so I decided to drive down a bit early. I remembered that my husband and my son had a play to go to or some such event. But, I reasoned, I could visit and play with my son and while they'd be gone, I could hang out, use the Internet access and celebrate when they returned.
When I arrived, I let myself into the house and announced, "Hey, I'm here!" No response. The house was very quiet, but I knew somebody was home. I peered into the kitchen. There were my husband and son sitting at the kitchen table. David appeared to be giving our son another lecture. They both looked up at me, but neither offered a greeting or got up to meet me. I could almost hear my heart drop, "Clunk!"
I glanced around the kitchen. There were no flowers, wrapped presents, balloons, or cute, little hand-made things from my young son. Nothing. I pretended I needed to go to the bathroom. I looked further around the house. I feigned thirst. I looked in the fridge. Nope. No cake in there either. There were no signs to indicate that they had any birthday celebrating planned. What?! Had they forgotten that it was my birthday? I felt lower than low. I felt completely unloved, alone and unlovable.
I went and hid in the bathroom (I did this a lot in my heavy dissociation days). I stayed there while the guys left for their event. Maybe they would grab some flowers and a little cake from the grocery store while they were out. No! I decided that would be too little, too late. I began to scream at myself while I hit myself in the head with the heel of my hand (another form of SI). "Stupid!" I yelled. "I am stupid and nobody loves me!" I decided I didn't want my son to see me go psycho. I also felt sure that he was better off without me.
I ran for the car and sped away. Luckily, this time, I did not run away; I didn't have to (my husband was paying for the hotel, my safe place). I went straight back to my little lonely suite. I did not bother to turn on any lights. I went into the bedroom and flung myself onto the floor in a dark, safe corner. There I stayed for a long time, curled up in the fetal position and rocking myself. I didn't want to feel anything. I wanted to disappear.
But, the negative self-talk that went on in my head was ruthless. The dark, the rocking, the safe corner, nothing could keep it at bay. It kept repeating mean things like, "Nobody loves you. You're not worth loving. You don't deserve to be happy."
After an unknown amount of time passed, I began to scratch. I found a place on my neck, under my hair and just below the hairline. I scratched rhythmically as I continued to rock myself. I scratched and scratched until I felt the warm, wet blood on my fingertips. "There, see?" I told myself. "I do bleed. I am alive. I matter...at least this much." This seemed to make the ruthless chatter subside.
After a while, I got up out of my corner to go to the bathroom. I turned on the light and saw the dried blood crusted under my fingernails. I immediately felt ashamed and shitty about myself. But, it was still better than how I had felt before I drew blood from my neck.
This was my last SI incident. It was over two years ago. This is my first detailed communication about it. I tried to tell someone about the SI once when I was hospitalized for my PTSD, but the person didn't take the time to listen. I looked at the note in my chart. It said, "Breaks her fingernails." I wanted to scream at this imbecile, "No! I use my fingernails to scratch my skin until I bleed!" I felt unheard and invalidated. I never attempted to broach the SI subject again.
Fortunately, the trauma processing I've done over the last couple of years seems to have targeted some of the old feelings of being worthless and invisible. I think that has carried over to my SI because I've had no temptation at all to do it. I hope that temptation never comes back.
Here are those SI links I promised. Two of the largest SI resources on the web are from the UK. The Self-Injury International Internet Service, www.siari.com.uk, says its the "largest self-injury resource on the web." Life SIGNS, www.lifesigns.org.uk, offers self-injury guidance and network support.
At the website www.psyke.org, you can find an SI forum with over 4,000 registered users. You can also post personal stories and poetry there. Recover Your Life, www.recoveryourlife.com, has an even larger forum, with over 7,000 members. This site offers live chat and live assistance and a first aid guide. You can also post biographies, artwork, photos, poetry and lyrics there.
I do not see self-injury as being the same thing as attempts at suicide. This suicide prevention site, however, has a large SI resource area. The organization is called Befrienders at www.befrienders.org. Their motto: "Reduce suicide worldwide with 31,000 volunteers in 40 countries." Suicide is an issue for survivors, whether they self-harm or not. So, I post this site here.
Copyright 2006 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved
Labels: aftermath, awareness, birthdays, comfort, dissociation, PTSD, self-esteem, self-injury, therapy, trance states
