May 16, 2011
Life Goes On...
Labels: appreciation, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, child parts, comfort, connection, inner child, therapy, triggers
July 01, 2010
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig!
We drank good wine, ate delicious food, listened to live music and had nice conversation. I even managed to keep up some pretty good eating habits and did my morning walk four times while I was away. I might have gained a couple of pounds, but probably no more than two back from the nine I lost. Yeah!
I only had one dissociative "episode" while I was on this vacation. My son said something inappropriate and disrespectful and I got triggered. I managed to deal with him during this "learning moment" in an appropriate parental manner.
But, I heard a voice in my head responding with, "Just shut up. No one wants to hear anything you have to say." Yuck! I'm sure I heard that one--almost word-for-word--many times while growing up in my abusive household. Then, I noticed something else. I responded with my behavior as well. I did exactly that--I shut up. There's like this part inside me--a monitor--that notices when an idea starts to form in my head at these times. This monitor quickly spots the idea and squashes it down before it has a chance to become words that form on my lips. The idea is shut down before it can come out of my mouth.
I had a therapy session today and we talked about this quite a bit. It's a huge self-esteem issue. I'm sure it is closely related to my inability to finish my book and my habit of shutting down and not getting any writing done on my blog at times.
Ah, the work continues. I'm going to be coming around to your blogs in the next few days, now that I'm back in town and online, and see what YOU have to say. Because, I do care and I am interested in your thoughts, feelings and ideas. See you soon!
Labels: aftermath, child abuse, dissociation, self-esteem, shame, therapy, triggers
February 17, 2010
A Part Is Born
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
November 13, 2009
My Parts Are Alive...
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
October 15, 2009
Frozen in Mid-Step; What Now?
I Don't Know Who I Am by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
So, I'm feeling frustrated, disappointed and overwhelmed in the therapy department. The healing journey is, once again, feeling like an attempt to reach the Mt. Everest summit. Right now, I feel like I've hit a raging blizzard and I'm clawing the jagged rocks, trying not to slip back down, negating a thousand feet of hard-won ascent progress. To be honest, I feel like I need to set up camp and hunker down in my tent while I wait for the storm to pass.
Unfortunately, recovery from a trauma-induced dissociative disorder doesn't work that way. When the storm hits is when I have to muster up the strength and courage to work even harder and keep on climbing, even if it feels like I'm barely putting one foot in front of the other and I can't see where I'm going.
What prompted this, you ask? Well, I've been talking to my twin sister a lot lately about the progress she made at the WIIT program --The Women's Institute For Incorporation Therapy--in Florida. It's a one-of-a-kind treatment facility that practices incorporation therapy for dissociative trauma survivors. The more I talked with her, the more I wanted to try to attend this program myself. I feel like it could help me progress light years faster than the progress I'm making in individual therapy right now.
Let me give you some background detail that may explain why I got so excited about this idea. You see, I've been working a lot lately with parts that I used to call the "punisher parts" in the beginning. In the last year, it's really become apparent to me that these self-harming parts work overtime to maintain the abuse secret.
Here's the scenario I often get, but have just become aware of and started to understand: A young part starts to feel some feelings (not allowed!) of sadness, abandonment, fear, etc. Then a part I like to call a "firefighter" type comes out and jumps through all kinds of crazy hoops trying to shut off/down the feelings. This could include running away in dissociative fugues, getting suicidal, getting drunk, over-spending, etc. etc. Then, one of these protector (punisher) parts comes out and says, "You're getting out of hand. You're drawing too much attention to yourself. You are acting crazy. You're going to blow it. People will find out the secret." So then there's usually some self-injury type behavior. The problem with this is that it brings about huge feelings of shame and guilt, which threatens to start the whole feelings--avoiding feelings spiral all over again. So, I have a part named Serena who takes over and shuts the whole body down. I don't move, I don't talk, I don't do anything.
I'm trying to break this cycle of dissociative dysfunction. I have found--yeah, my therapist was right--that most of these self-destructive parts are really trying to be protective. They think that, if the secret gets out, I am going to be killed. I have found (as scary as they are, at first, to approach) that they are often quite cooperative once we get a dialogue going, get a contract not to self-harm "signed," and then I find them some more appropriate job to do that makes them still feel useful. I have a part named Sentry, for example, who does NOT get to be inappropriate and in people's faces anymore, but he gets the job of always being alert and aware of my surroundings whenever I'm getting out of my car and it's dark outside.
Sounds great, right? Well the difficulty I'm having now is that I've got a few of these protector (punisher) parts "standing down" with contracts and/or new jobs and now all hell is breaking loose with lots of previously-exiled little parts wanting to tell me their part of the story. They're all clamoring to be heard. They have sadness, fear, betrayal, rejection, abandonment, etc. issues to express and abuse memories they have been holding and are now ready to hand off to me. I told my therapist I feel like there's a long line of them stretched out in the dark, waiting to come into the light and be healed. This is great healing/therapy news and sign of progress. But, you can only imagine how overwhelming it is. It's gotten so bad that I'm back to a lot of PTSD symptoms like huge startle response and triggers that are sending me into full-blown flashbacks again. These are symptoms that I've had under control for a few years. So, you can understand why I fear I'm already starting to backslide.
I really thought that the WIIT program would be a great place to process all this in some kind of timely manner with lots of support and without the distractions of my special needs son, my husband, house cleaning, cooking, blah blah blah, etc. Well, I finally got hold of a real, live person at WIIT on the phone yesterday. I was hoping, since I am private pay (no mental health coverage for this pre-existing condition; we pay cash), I would be able to customize my own treatment plan there. Nope. This intake person I talked to wasn't budging. She told me that out-of-state patients are required to spend a minimum of one week inpatient at this facility and then two weeks of intensive outpatient. The alternative is to stay two whole weeks inpatient. She quoted me a price for this that was a small fortune. It was enough to pay for a new car, as a matter of fact!
So, the long and the short of it is that I'm not going. Crap! I might try to stay in a hotel for several days and see my therapist for several hours for a week and see how much we're able to accomplish that way. I don't know. I'll keep you all posted. Pray for a miracle??
Labels: dissociation, journey, overwhelm, parts, PTSD, self-injury, therapy, trauma, triggers
August 03, 2009
August Angst
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
March 18, 2009
Doormat No More!
Boundaries. Limits. Self-respect. Assertiveness. Confidence. Self-Esteem. They all seem quite interrelated. I'm sure these are all concepts that anyone who has felt like they have "victim" stamped on their forehead has struggled with. I know I have.
I remember it like it was yesterday: "Work on your self-esteem!" was the battle cry at the after-care program I was attending after my first big stint in the psych ward of a hospital. I guess they figured that anyone who had been suicidal needed to work on their self-confidence.
This was before the retrieval of most of my childhood sexual abuse memories. This was before the onslaught of PTSD, with its flashbacks, nightmares and terrifying moments spent huddled against a firm, safe wall in the fetal position. This was way before I knew about parts, "splintering," and my severe dissociative disorder. I guess I just wasn't ready yet for an overhaul of my self-esteem.
But it's an important topic and survivor issue. I don't think I did much--not right away, anyway--with the books I shelved and the notes I took on the topic. But, I do think I took a lot of baby steps toward assertiveness over the years. Those baby steps have added up and I can now look back and see that I have gotten quite far!
Just the other day I had a run-in with some fellow dog owners who were allowing their two large-breed canines to trample and urinate all over my flower garden. They were belligerent, rude and all up in my face with a "it's no big deal, lady" attitude. On top of it all, these folks were construction workers who were at my neighbor's new house to install some hardwood floors. Were they being paid to be rude to their customer's neighbor? Hell, no!
I stood my ground, stayed safe and immediately called my neighbor who came right over and told them to get those dogs out of there and never bring them back. Yay, little ol' assertive me!
Was it as simple as I've just described? No. Are you kidding? I have a bunch of wounded, inner parts, remember? Man, did I get some little part action!
This scared me at first. It seemed so over the top for the situation I had just encountered. But, as many of us child abuse survivors know, it's not always about the now, it's about the past...especially the unresolved, traumatic past.
I lost control and ended up hiding in the dark, safe closet for a while. Sometimes I just give in to this. After a while, when nobody ends up coming to drag us out of there by the hair, I can convince all myselves that we're safe now. But, that wasn't the end of it. There were a lot of tears; terrified sobs, really. As much as it scared me, I looked in the mirror during this time. What I saw was a desperate, terrorized little girl. Yeah, that wounded little one got triggered alright.
I spent the rest of the day validating the tears, fears, terror and despair while trying not to get "flooded" by the dug-up emotions. I interspersed feeling these feelings with lots of comfort techniques. I did anything I could think of to just comfort and soothe that scared, wounded part of me.
This is one of the few times I can think of when I was assertive and felt the feelings in an appropriate way. I think this is progress. My therapist thought so, too. I guess I have come a long way. I think my doormat status has evolved into something much healthier. I wrote a poem about it.
Doormat No More
I have always
been a doormat.
But, the dirt
that's been scraped
on me
from the throng
of careless boots
seems to have contained
a few viable seeds.
My once barren mat
now sprouts
seedlings of assertiveness.
At first, only
tentative, tender shoots
barely poke through
the trampled earth.
Then, saplings of self-respect
reach for the sun:
boundaries, affirmations and
the ability to say "no."
I am growing
firm, bold
hybrids of strength
into a mighty grove
of confidence.
Copyright 2009, Marj McCabe ~ All rights reserved.
Labels: aftermath, alters, assertiveness, child abuse, child parts, comfort, feelings, healing, poem, Poetry, PTSD, self-esteem, therapy, triggers
March 01, 2009
SIAD--Self-Injury Awareness Day
Trigger Warning: Please be careful when reading this post. Self-injury topics can be very triggering and/or re-traumatizing for self-harmers, abuse survivors or not.
I notice that I haven't written about self-injury for a while. I used to be active in some self-injury forums, and I haven't visited them for a while either.
I have to be honest: I thought I had self-injury licked. I felt so good about the accomplishment when I wrote about my past personal experiences with self-injury on the "Strange Trip" page of the "My Story" section of my website, Survivors Can Thrive! I went for a couple of years, at least, without harming myself. This was during the period of time when I was getting a lot of trauma processing done with a therapist who's an expert in traumatic stress. Then the dissociative sh*t hit the fan, I got a new therapist, I discovered "splintering" from my dissociative disorder, and...I noticed self-injury creeping back into my life.
Since I have never cut, I think it took me a long time to be honest with myself that I was still a self-injurer. But, self-injury can take many forms. For me, it is usually scratching. I thought I knew why I did it and wrote about that on my dot com site and also on a March 1 post back in 2006 here.
But, since I've been more aware of my dissociative "episodes," I notice that there seem to be some times when I self injure as a way of self-punishment of some sort. In addition to the scratching, I sometimes bang myself in the head with the heal of my hand. This is usually accompanied by some verbally self-abusive statements such as, "I am so stupid!" or "I'm an idiot!" It makes me so angry now--thinking about it--that I identified with my abusive father and repeat the same insults that he used to rain down on me as a child. They are almost word-for-word, for crying out loud! Aaaacckkkk!
I feel very ashamed after I indulge in any self-injury behaviors. I still feel shame admitting these things now. It feels like a failing, when I've been so determined to break the cycle of abuse. I've been successful at doing this with my own precious child, but I don't consistently offer the same unconditional love to myself.
Well, as I find myself saying, again and again, awareness is the key to change. So, let's all do our part to raise awareness about self-injury, today and beyond. Here are a few links to other bloggers who are also raising awareness on this SIAD day:
Also, you can find some self-injury support, forums and other resources on my "Survivor Issues" page of my dot com site, which I just updated at the beginning of January. If you are dealing with self-injury, please know that you are not alone. So, please, don't try to go it alone. There is help and there is support. I'm glad that SIAD--Self-Injury Awareness Day--helped me gain awareness on a survivor issue that I need to work on some more with my therapist. And I'm grateful to be reminded again that I am not alone in this struggle.
Labels: aftermath, breaking the cycle, chid abuse, childhood sexual abuse, dissociation, links, part activity, self-injury, self-love, triggers
January 10, 2009
I Resolve to Comfort my Inner Child
At my therapist appointment on Thursday, my T said, "You know the actual physical trauma of child abuse gets overlooked and neglected in therapy quite a bit. We focus so much on the emotional trauma and working on feelings, that we don't spend much time on the physical part. As a little girl, you were very, very hurt physically. And most of the time your physical injuries were ignored and received no medical attention."
After she said that, I realized the childhood memory that my recent injury was reminding me of. It wasn't an abuse injury, but the incident reminds me of how many times my childhood injuries and/or illnesses were ignored, overlooked and not attended to in any appropriate, parenting sort of way.
My parents had divorced and, being the upstanding, attentive, appropriate, sane father that he was, dear old "Dad" got full visitation rights with us kids. He had his old, red, two-door jalopy parked in our driveway, waiting to take us to his place for our "visit." I remember that it was winter and there was snow on the ground. My older brother was already seated in the front seat, and my twin sister and I were scooting into the back seat when it happened.
I remember we were all in a hurry to get out of there (even if it was to be with our monster father) because our parents were yelling across the yard at each other: It was the same old topic of, "Where's the child support money?" I got into the back seat first. In her haste to get in after me and close the door behind her, my sister accidentally slammed one of my hands in the heavy car door. I immediately began to wail in pain, while my sister and brother scrambled to get the door back open and release my hand.
My father was oblivious to all this commotion. Instead, he chose this exact moment to zero in and focus on a tiny hole in the knee of my pants, about the size of a dime. Immediately he began to rage. "What the hell do you think you're doing, dressing like this for your visit with me?! Of all the hard-earned money I send to your mother every month, she can't dress you any better than this?! You both have a lot of nerve! Go in and change your clothes immediately! We're not going anywhere with you dressed in rags!" I remember his words and the look of disbelief and outrage on his face. The details of what happened next, however, are rather a blur.
I know my hand hurt like hell. I know all three of us kids did go back inside the house. I know my parents kept on yelling until my father finally drove away alone. I know I did not receive any medical attention--parental attention of any kind--for my smashed hand. There was no emergency room, no doctor's call, no ice pack, nothing. I think I went into the bathroom and ran some cold water in the sink to soothe my throbbing hand.
Now, with a broken rib, all you can do is wait for it to heal. You're not put into a cast. About all you can do is ice it down and take pain meds. It takes about six to eight weeks--and you wait and wait--to get back to normal activity while your ribs heal. That's about all I can do.
There's not much else to be done on this rib issue, when it comes to my healthy, present day self care. But, I started thinking that there are so many ways I can nurture and heal my inner child. This remembrance is an opportunity for me to mourn my lost and neglected childhood and to grieve for the emotional and physical pain that I, as a little girl, had to endure alone. What types of nurturing and basic care did you not receive from the people who were supposed to be your parents?
Hhmmm...let's start a list. Mothering we didn’t get: reassurance, warmth, comfort, empathy, compassion, protection, optimism, confidence, faith, songs, rocking, attachment, holding, gentleness, patience, allowance, acceptance, guidance, safety, reliability, consistency, TLC, caring, attention, medical attention, adoration, play, wisdom, tenderness, joy, trust, LOVE, unconditional love, nurturing, delight...
Delight. Yes. Don't you like that one? Is it so much to ask that a mother actually take delight in her precious child? It comes so easily for me with my own beautiful son. The day I brought my tiny newborn home from the hospital was about the most elated I've ever been in my life. I was so delighted with my new child. Why was it such an overwhelming burden and impossibility for my own mother?
This is one of the reasons why I did what many may consider an odd thing--I bought a baby doll and I sing to her. In a mindful and sincere way, I sing to my inner child: "You're my beautiful baby girl. You're an angel in this world. You're adorable. My beautiful baby girl."
Using my motherly list I started above, I wrote a poem, which I can also put to music in my head and sing to my inner child. Here it is:
Nurture My Soul
I love you
There, there
Let me comfort you
I care
It’s Okay
It’s okay to cry
I’ll protect you
I’m here
It’s safe now for you to rest
Lay your head down
Here’s my shoulder
I will stroke your hair
It’s okay
You can show me
I will dress your wounds
Sleep now
Close your eyes
I will stay with you
No need to hide
It’s safe for you now
You can be you with me
Run to me
When you’re scared
I will protect you
You can feel
Even your rage
It is safe with me
You are beautiful
The way you are
I find great joy in you
I am patient
With your not knowing
And I will show you how
My arms are open
Fall into them
I will gently rock you
You’re frightened
It’s dark
Be still; I’ll sing to you
Everyone has fears
But the world can be a wonderful place
I’ll help you to see that It’ll be okay.
Copyright 2009 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved
Labels: child abuse, child parts, comfort, inner child, needs, nurturing, pain, Poetry, self-care, therapy, trauma, triggers
September 17, 2008
Dissociative Detour...
...On the Way to The Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse...
Well, well, well. I feel like I just woke up from one of those dreams where I'm about to enter a classroom for a final exam I haven't studied one lick for...
...and I discover I'm naked in front of everybody!
I'm feeling embarrassed and a bit like a chastised child.
I had one of the biggest dissociative "episodes" of my life, that I'm aware of any way. It started as we were coming back from our family vacation, just before the new school year began. I think Logan Airport, in Boston--where I'd only been once, on a business trip--was one of the triggers that set it all off. I feel like I'm just now almost completely done "coming down" from the whole dissociative nightmare...I mean, detour...like some kind of really frightening drug or something.
It scared my son so much that he, literally, was like, "Who are you and what have you done with my Mommy?" We're going to see my therapist together today, for "the talk." No, not the "sex talk." This will be the talk where we explain "what's wrong with Mom" to my beloved offspring. I've really resisted the urge to give him "too much information" up to this point; a lesson I learned from my sister as she tried to explain things years ago to her two young children. But, my therapist has worked with dissociative clients for over 20 years and I know she will be a big help. I hope this will assuage some of his fears and help him not worry so much.
So, anyway. The hiatus for the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is supposed to be over, right? I think the deadline for submissions was supposed to be today for a Friday post here, at Survivors Can Thrive! I've been to Blog Carnival dot com a couple of times today and the site is down. See the widget as you scroll down my sidebar? It's messed up.
Ah well, maybe that's a good thing, ya know? I think what I'd like to do anyway is extend the deadline for submissions and run the Carnival on Monday. Would you all be cool with that? As soon as the BC site is back up and I can log in, I'll go and change the dates. So, we have a little breathing room. Aaahhhh...that sounds nice, doesn't it? ;)
How 'bout we make the theme for the September Carnival something about Fall, Summer coming to an end, Transitions, or something like that. I should be able to come up with my own post about this time of year, as it always seems to hold great trauma-related/dissociative surprises for me. I still haven't figured out exactly what it's about. It's not like it's a specific "anniversary" or anything. It seems to sneak up as early as the middle of August, and have the potential to bite me in the ass until about mid-October. Fun, huh? Oh well. At least, this time, I was able to stay out of the hospital. That's improvement, right?
On another Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse note: I don't want to abandon the carnival that I founded and maintain. But, I'm looking for an extended break of sorts. What I'd like to look for supporters for is this idea: I want Carnival participants and past hosts to think about "managing" the Carnival in a guest-like, long-term stint for a commitment of six months to a year. I will still promote the Carnival at my blog and around the survivor-thriver community and submit my own posts. I'm hoping this will help our carnival stay on a month-by-month basis of continuity. Anybody willing out there? Please comment and/or leave me an e-mail message if you'd be interested. Thanks, all!
And get those September/Fall BLOG CARNIVAL AGAINST CHILD ABUSE submissions in. As soon as Blog Carnival is back up, I'll insert the submission form for you to use here.
Labels: Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, blog carnivals, dissociation, therapy, trauma, triggers
March 02, 2007
The Dissociative Twilight Zone?
A couple of posts back, I told of a fight I had with my husband after one of my T appointments. I think a part came out who is particularly "gloom and doom." My husband has been warned that this part of me can not be reasoned with--no logic gets through. But, alas, he tried in vain and ended the fight getting in my face a bit with a strong, "You're wrong!"
At that, I got completely hysterical. He tried to hug me and I screamed, "Don't touch me!" and ran upstairs. After my husband left I seemed to switch again and proceeded to rage at his picture for hours. YIKES!
I recognized the style of the speech. This is someone who looks at me in the mirror and says the cruelest things. Since this part scares the ever-lovin' shit out of me, I decided to bite the bullet and have a journal conversation with it. I've decided that this entity is androgynous. I can't refer to this person as "he" or "she" because it seems to be both or neither. Anyway, here's the conversation, lifted out of the paper journal:
(Note: when I am talking, the font with remain the same. When this newly-conversing part is talking, I will use all caps.)
Me: As suggested and advised by Karen, our therapist, I am speaking to the one who raged at my husband's picture on Monday afternoon and called him a "Dumb Ass." This is not to blame or condemn--only to differentiate.
I thought about calling you "The Intimidator," but I'm sure that's selling you short. It appears to me that one of your major roles is to help us avoid humiliation....THANK YOU!
I know this was a BIG factor in our childhood abuse, so this has been an important role. Yet, I am sure you serve other functions as well. Would you like to tell me about them and/or give me a name you would prefer I use when speaking with you?
I WANT SOME RESPECT. I DESERVE AT LEAST THAT MUCH FOR ALL I'VE DONE!
Yes. That's true.
YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN STUCK BEING A GOOBER ALL YOUR LIFE IF IT WEREN'T FOR ME!
I agree that you deserve respect and appreciation. I thank you for all the times you saved me from public humiliation and more social mortification. I'm sorry that my fear has kept me from seeing your positive role and appreciating you.
I AM TO BE FEARED AND RESPECTED.
I'd like us to agree, though, that we will all show more respect to each other. When we attack each other it is very counter-productive.
If we all agree not to tell you, "shut up!" or call you a "raging maniac," could you agree not to call me "ugly" or "stupid" or call my husband a "Dumb Ass?"
WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME? I DON'T CARE. I'M NO CHUMP. I'M NOT STUPID ENOUGH TO CARE ABOUT THAT SHIT!
I think you do care. That's why you've taken your role so seriously and been quite diligent about it. I respect your hard work and courage.
BUT WHEN THE PEOPLE I PROTECT TURN ON ME, I HAVE TO PUT THEM IN THEIR PLACE!
I would prefer that everyone inside decide their own place and then communicate that with me. But, you could be in invaluable asset to everyone if you helped me by sharing your vast intelligence and information. You could be a light for those still in the dark. Would you be open to that?
WHAT DO I HAVE TO GIVE UP IN RETURN?
You, and everyone else--including me--need to commit to following the rule of no name calling. There is no one here now, February of 2007, in this house, in this community, in this state, who calls us names any more. We no longer need to avoid intimidation by intimidating back.
BUT YOUR HUSBAND GOT IN YOUR FACE AND THAT WASN'T RIGHT!
Yes, and he felt bad about it and apologized and we talked calmly about how he could respond differently next time. We're all learning and he is willing to learn, too. He was just scared.
I'M NOT SCARED!
Well, maybe you're not, but there are a lot of people here who are. And your name-calling and yelling scares the little ones and me, too, sometimes. I appreciate you talking to me calmly now and helping me not be so scared because I can think better this way.
WELL, IT'S HARD NOT TO THINK OF THAT KIND OF STUFF AS JUST WEAK. THE WEAK TURN INTO VICTIMS YOU KNOW.
So, is that your role, too, to help us from ever being a victim again?
YOU GOT IT!
You were there when that creep was following us on the street in Chicago years ago weren't you?
YEP. I SCARED THE LITTLE CREEP AWAY!
That was amazing! I'm grateful and very impressed.
JUST MY JOB.
Well, how about we agree that if we're ever in any real danger like that again--danger of being mugged, etc.--you can use whatever swear words you want and be as intimidating as you like (unless they have a gun on us or something and mouthing off would get us shot)? We need to differentiate between whether there's real danger or not.
What do you think about hanging out in a light house? You re so observant and have such keen instincts. You could spot danger right away and shine a light on it and alert us all so we can stay safe. (This was an idea I came up with after my T suggested that I urge this part to go into the "safe place" visualized sun porch that most of us use as safe sanctuary. I didn't feel that this part would feel comfortable or desire to go there.)
YEAH. I GUESS THAT COULD WORK.
Will you think about a respectful name we could call you?
YEAH. IT'S GOT TO COMMAND RESPECT. I'LL THINK OF GOOD ONE.
Thanks. And thanks for talking to me and being open to some new ideas. It's very helpful and I feel better.
IT'S ALRIGHT. I WANT US TO BE ON GOOD TERMS.
I appreciate that and I'll talk to you later.
***
Later, we agreed on the name, "Sentry." Now, Sentry hangs out in a lighthouse and oversees the safety of little ones playing on a beach. So, now we have another "safe place" visualization environment that works for several parts. It's a win-win situation. I felt an amazing sense of relief after doing this exercise and opening up this line of communication. Marlene Steinberg, M.D., who wrote The Stranger In The Mirror, calls this part of "The Four C's" of working with one's parts. I agree that comfort, communication, cooperation, and connection--these "four C's"--are going to be very important in my healing. I'm working hard right now to get some of these established.
Labels: child abuse, connection, DID, dissociation, mapping, sexual abuse survivors, support, system, therapy, triggers
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
June 15, 2006
Blog Carnival Child Sexual Abuse Survivor Story--Mine
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
