Living Life in the Face of Nastiness…

There are people in life who are simply nasty. They are mean, disrespectful and really don’t care how what they do affects others. When confronted with such people, we have choices to make. We can either react to them, wherein we lose ourselves by allowing them to control our lives and determine how we will live. Or, we can respond to them, wherein we maintain our own autonomy and integrity and choose how we shall live. I prefer the latter. That is my choice.

When I am confronted by nasty negative people I choose to remember that I, too, have had my “moments” of being nasty or ugly. It may not have been intentional. I may not have even been aware of how I was coming across. Or, I may have realized it as it was happening, but did not know how to “fix” it. Or maybe there was no fix…the damage was already done. Any way you look at it, I have had a negative impact on others at times in my life. So, I believe it is worthwhile to remain humble toward others, recognizing that I am certainly not perfect, either!

I also try to remember that everyone is the way they are for a reason. For good or bad, we have all had negative and positive experiences in life that have helped to shape us into what we are today. Sometimes, the balance between positive and negative was fairly even overall. But for some of us, one heavily outweighed the other.

For those whose positive experiences heavily outweighed the negative it can be difficult to understand those of who whose lives were the opposite. We may fumble where they do not. We may react to things that do not faze them one bit. I think it is good when each person can believe another’s story and try to imagine living in that reality. It can help us to be more empathetic toward others.

For those of us who weigh heavily on the negative, and some even in the extreme, it can be difficult to imagine life without that. We see the way others live and struggle to comprehend how they can do that. It just isn’t even on our radar.

Thankfully, though, there can be some good experiences even in the midst of craziness and evil, that give us some positive skills for life. For me, knowing my Creator made a HUGE difference. It is part of what helped to shape me and, I think, to temper how the abuse affected me.

I still deal with the physical effects of trauma brain and I can still experience flashbacks that are part of PTSD and getting  triggered.  However, I have learned over the years how to cope and work around the aftereffects. I know what I can do and what I cannot do and I no longer feel guilt or shame over what I cannot do…even when others do not understand. It is frustrating at times when people look less favorably upon me for what I cannot do. They cannot comprehend how even the simplest of things can be overwhelming at times. But I have learned to live with that and simply accept that there are things they simply do not know and, even if they did, might not be able to understand.

Life is good…even when it is hard. I am OK with that. My heavenly Abba/Father/true Daddy walks with me. So does my Messiah…Yeshua. Their Ruach/Spirit lives within me and that strengthens and comforts me…especially when life is hard.

I refuse to give up. I refuse to hold grudges. I refuse to not forgive. I choose to walk in freedom with my head held high…even when I am shaking inside.

Each Day Moving Forward…

I don’t know how much time we have left in this world. I watch it getting worse and worse…and then I wonder…how serious are my problems…really. I do my best when I walk in the truth that this is NOT my real Home. My real Home comes after this world passes away. This is merely a shadow of what is to come…and for some of us…it is a very dark shadow.

Yet…the Creator has come to bring light into this darkness. He has come to bring love and healing…and a challenge. Recognizing who He is and choosing to follow Him comes with a price. There are those who reject Him and there are some who will reject me, also. Some will reject me because I am a broken imperfect person, but there are some who will reject me because I follow Him…because I will not compromise truth.

Personally…I don’t really think that most people are really rejecting Him. I think they are rejecting the caricature and false image of Him that has been taught in so many places and groups. It really makes me sad when I see how He is portrayed as something/someone He is not. So many people miss out on the blessing of really knowing Him because they have never been introduced to the REAL Him!

Another thing that makes a real difference in my life is when I sit with the One who made me…the One who knows me best…the One who became man and gave of Himself for me. That is one of the challenges of my living situation. I have not had any regular time alone to just sit with Him. But then I have to ask myself…how much do I really love Him? When we really love someone…don’t we make time to be with that person?

As I sit here I recognize that I really do not do all I can to spend time with Him…listening for His voice…reading and learning of Him…focusing my heart upon Him…drawing closer to Him. There are things in my life that make it harder to do all of that…things I can do nothing about. I can’t do much about my brain being in a fog…or about feeling a bit dizzy at times. I can’t do much about being unable to focus…about my mind swirling around. However, do I make the best use of the little snippets of time I have alone? He is my Creator. He loves me so much and has been here for me in so many ways. Do I really appreciate that? Do I show that appreciation?

It has been so long since I have lived in a situation that allowed me to spend regular time with Him and in His written words to me. Yet…I do talk to Him a lot. In fact, I am talking to Him even as I write these words. And He does speak to my heart. As I sit here thinking that I am failing to really do all I can to draw close to Him, He just puts His arms around my heart and reassures me that it is not about performance. It is about loving Him…and I do love Him…so much more than I can ever express.

I cannot show my love for Him in the same ways that others can, but why should I? I am not them! I am His unique creation…made in His image and filled with His Spirit. So I show my love for Him in ways that are uniquely gifted to me. Sometimes…loving Him can simply mean that I honor Him by not giving up. I keep fighting. I keep trying to do the right thing…even when I fall upon my face time after time. I aim at taking good care of this body that He has given me.

Hm…I just took a break to fold some clothes before I wrap up this post. I am listening to some beautiful music being played on PBN. Suddenly, I realized something. Sometimes the music in our lives is loud and we are dancing and singing to it. Other times it is a steady stream in the background. We are not focused on it, but it is there nonetheless.

It is the same in my life with the Creator. Sometimes I am focused directly and intently upon Him. He and I are dancing and singing and openly communicating. But oftentimes, He is the spiritual background music of my life…the love that is always there…the presence that is always with me…even when I am not really focusing directly on Him.

I want to have Him more up front in my life. Yet I am also grateful that He is faithful to never leave me or abandon me…even when He is not the upfront focus…even when flashbacks seem more real…even when my brain is too foggy to focus on anything…even when I cannot read His word…even when confusion seems to be reigning.

He is good. He is love. He is my true Abba…and my L-rd. His Spirit lives with me. Because of Him…I can live each day moving forward…even when it does not feel as if I am moving forward.

As I Lay Me Down to Sleep

As I Lay Me Down to Sleep

As I lay me down to sleep
flashbacks in the mind release.
Pushing forward, images come
as I fight to not come undone.
My body tenses; I cannot breathe,
overwhelmed by what I “see”.
Morphing one image into another,
with silent screams of “no” in my head,
I try to be open to history’s unveiling,
fighting the urge to let the mists return.
But slowly it slips away from me again.
And in the morning I awake
with a new reality like a distant dream.
Is anything ever what it seems?

June 28, 2010

Flashbacks…

I have been reading a novel about a woman who loses her sight due to conversion disorder (which some would call “hysterical blindness”. The disorder basically covers any physical limitation that comes with no apparent physical cause…but typically following a traumatic event. The book tells of her witnessing an accident that killed her husband, young son and unborn child. Her young daughter survived.

As the images of the accident (for which she blames herself) keep intruding upon her mind she willfully pushes them away and her sight slowly starts to go, too. On some level, even she recognizes the connection. During the two-part novel, she willfully starts seeking her sight again two years later. She has now found a desire to see…a reason to want to see again…and she knows that one key to that is being willing to embrace the memories. So she opens herself to the flashbacks and, in spite of tremendous headaches and heartaches, wills herself to “look”.

On some level…I think what she was to dissociate the memory of the accident out of her mind. That is not exactly uncommon. Many people do not remember accidents they have been in…although, in this case, it was the witnessing of it…not the actual being in it.

It sounds a lot like dissociation to me. Only, in this case, physical blindness also comes. Can something physical like that come with dissociation? I know that when multiples switch there is often complete separation of the outside world to the one who “goes inside”. But that is different…isn’t it? This woman is not split…just dissociative of the memories. My curiosity is where the blindness comes in.

Flashbacks can include the physical sensations of the original event…even to the point of bruising, welts and even bleeding.  Some alters can be blind…or deaf. Is there a connection? I don’t know.

The reason I even bring this up is not because of the blindness…but because of the flashbacks. Flashbacks have been very minimal for me for quite a while. I suspect it is due to the living situation because there really is no “safe”, private place in which to process anything. That is something that is going to change most likely within the next month or two. Life could get really interesting when that happens…which can also be a bit unnerving to think about…so…I won’t.

I was almost finished with the novel when I went to bed the other night. As I lay there…one of the best times for visual flashbacks…I suddenly saw an infant’s toes. The whole infant was there, but my focus was on the toes. I won’t go into the rest of what I saw…but like that woman…I had to fight to “see”. There is this battle whenever visuals come up. Part of me wants to embrace them…to see the truth. Part of me wants to push them away…to leave the mists of amnesia in place.

It is not just the visuals…but the accompanying sense of horror at what I am seeing. Everything in me goes into battle mode…fighting to embrace…fighting to push back. The veil of amnesia is not so bad. Thing is…whatever is in there will eventually just keep pushing out. The next day I experienced emotional flashbacks…the kind I typically will have when I have flashbacks. No visual to explain it…just intense emotional pain.

This morning…I am seeing some visuals here and there. But…again…I am not in a situation where I can invite them to come. Someday…and I wonder what will happen then.

I wrote a poem about this. It will be in the next post.

Another Day in the Neighborhood…

I was reading last night in the bathroom. I just wasn’t ready to go to bed. The book was fairly light reading…nothing heavy or majorly intense…although it did deal with spiritual warfare in an Amish community. When I was tired, I went to bed…figuring on having plenty of time to sleep.

When I laid down…I started to see baby toes on baby feet. It went from there to the feet and so on. Flashback time. So, I just laid there in bed dealing with it…no place to go. I was fighting a battle. On the one hand I was trying to force myself to be open to what I was seeing. On the other hand I wanted to push it all away.

Someday…all this stuff needs to be able to come out. Someday…I will need to get the privacy to allow it all to come out…and the fortitude. Someday…

I did finally get to sleep…but then I woke up early in the morning and never really got back to sleep. So now I sit here at 9:30 and I am tired! I have been tired…but unable to go to bed yet. When we move out of here my bedtime will no longer be contingent upon another person.  I am anticipating that SO much!

Regarding the flashbacks…I wonder…in the book I was reading this Amish woman witnessed an accident that took the lives of her husband, son and unborn child. She pushed it all away…resulting in hysterical blindness. In the book, she reaches the point where she wants to see again and realizes that one key to that is to allow the memories to come. I wonder if reading about that process that she was going through could have made me more open to having them?

On another note…we watched the Bourne Identity today.  I had never seen it. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be…and we watched the director’s cut with all the explosion scenes. Perhaps I had steeled myself against it. I don’t know.

Afterwards, though, I felt foggy and it was very difficult to think or function. Although I know others who have that kind of history…assassin training, etc. …I don’t. I relate to having amnesia…although not to the degree Jason Bourne has it. But then…my amnesia tends to be different from anyone else I have “met” so far. I have lost my sister. She is somewhere in this head of mine…but I don’t remember living with her for 10 years growing up. And other things are spotty, too.

After the movie…I just sort of talked to myself…reminding myself that this is NOT my story. NOT my history. There is absolutely NO indication that I have gone through anything like this. I have handled guns and fired them…it does not come naturally to me. No training.

Anyway…I am very tired. I couldn’t even bring myself to watermark more of my art. I need to get it all watermarked and exported before I send my PC in. Yeah…I am having PC issues.

Well…gonna wrap this up.

Being Triggered and Shame

I hate being triggered, especially when I feel shamed. I have not really felt shamed for a long time, but I sure felt it tonight. Oh, it wasn’t intentional. I know it wasn’t…but that does not change the way I felt…or my struggle. I ended up flashing back right into the old pain…as if I’d never left. It raised all kinds of fears that I had to fight back down…but the biggest thing was the shame.

I felt as if all the old systems were back in place. It was like being in a double bind…lose/lose…no way to win. It sends me reeling and all sorts of other programming gets triggered right along with it. This makes two very significant triggerings within about a month. Unfortunately, I am not in a position to be able to discuss it with the one who did the triggering…not yet at least. It is really hard because I know he did not mean it. I know he loves me very much and would never want to hurt me.

Maybe I will come back to this. For now…I just wanted to get it out.

I Was Trying…

I started another post and was trying to finish it…but I just can’t right now. I am weary…feeling overwhelmed. So what else is NOT new?

I know that this life is just a breath compared to eternity, but while I am living here still bound by time, it seems like eternity is already here. I know that things will change…I mean…why wouldn’t they? But I wonder how I will hold up.

I like to think that I am strong…and, I guess, in some ways I am. However, I also know that I am weak. I have the brain of someone who was abused as a child. My stress threshold is much lower than it should be…in spite of all the hard work I have done. And yet…in some ways…I am handling some things better than I would have many years ago. I guess that IS a sign of some healing.

If I really think about it…there is probably no way I could have lived in this situation years ago without going totally crazy. Now…I only go partway crazy. I guess that is progress.

Sometimes…it seems as if I am doing so much better. Then something happens that sets me off…that triggers me…and I feel as if I am right back where I used to be so long ago. Maybe the difference is how long I stay in the “crazies” when they hit? Or the way I use what I have learned to combat it…or to get through it?

The same…yet different.

No progress…yet progress.

Stuck…yet moving forward.

Going…yet standing my ground.

Shaking…yet calm.

Amnesic…yet with a sense of history.

“Orphaned”…yet a child of the Most High G-d.

Broken…yet healing.

Alone…yet never alone.

Forsaken…yet chosen.

Losing it…yet holding together.

I was reminded today of something that has really helped me. Someone I know wrote about it here.  In my current situation, being truly alone is a precious rarity. Oh, sometimes the guys are outside for quite awhile, but it isn’t quite the same. There is always the possibility of interruption. Still, although that does not help very much with my healing, per se, I could start taking advantage of it for quiet time…instead of using it for everything else I try to squeeze into it.

Today, I had a difficult time getting on line and staying on line…not that I had any technical difficulty…it was just that I had no desire to be on line…no words to write. I felt empty. It was like Yeshua was calling to me to come spend time with Him, to be refilled with Him…so I did…after a fashion. I spent some time reading the Word…something that also helps a lot…and just letting it soak into me. That really helped, although it does not take away the struggle completely.

Writing also helps. There are times when I just have to get out my feelings and thoughts. This blog is one way to do that. It really helps me to write…to reflect…to share.  Finding the words to get what is inside to the outside…it all helps. Having a certain amount of anonymity helps, too. There are a few who read who know my true identity, but very few. That helps me to share more easily.

Hopefully, soon, I will be able to get back to the other posts I want to write…the posts that are just sitting inside waiting to come out.  I feel as if this post is a bit disjointed, but right now it is the best that I can do. It has been a rough day and tomorrow is really busy. I know I will make it through because I always do. Somehow…my heavenly Abba keeps me together. He gives me what I need for each day…whether that day is rough or easy. He provides. He gets me through it.

My Sister

My sister had a brave heart. She was beautiful and childlike. She was a fighter who would not give up. She was trapped…caught in an unseen web that was too sticky for her to break free from. They had her where they wanted her.

My sister ran away from one cult family right into the arms of another…but she didn’t know. Neither of us did. At that time, we were both amnesic to our true history.

I wonder…did she ever figure it out before she died? Did she finally remember her childhood abuse…the younger years? Did she remember “everything”…or just the minor “stuff” she used as an excuse to run away?

My sister kept trying…in recovery and out of it. I remember her telling me how she had to fight with the recovery people to get her a counselor. She kept saying she needed one, but they did not want to give it to her…not even in those fancy, high class, expensive recovery places.

Was it because it was being paid for by his parents? After all…counseling might mean that she would remember something…something important…something damning…about them. Maybe she would finally wake up to the truth about her boyfriend and his parents…the family she lived with. Or…maybe she wanted a counselor because she already had an inkling of the truth? I will never know in this life.

This is the time of year that I especially think of my sister…as her birthday approaches in a couple of days. And I wonder about her death…and sometimes, I wonder if she even really died…or if they have her holed up somewhere. It didn’t look like her. And my father would not leave me alone with her. If he had…what would I have done? I don’t know. We weren’t supposed to touch the body…but I think I would have. It did NOT look like her. I had seen her within the last year.

My father said it did, but he had not seen her in years…so far as I know. But then…it is not exactly like I came from a truthful family. Ha! “Family”. What is THAT supposed to be? Not the caricature I grew up with.

It’s funny how everything seemed to be so good…on the outside looking in. All the memories I concocted about growing up seemed so OK…yet I was so not OK.  Stories my mother told me were woven through my mind with photos from the family albums. Childhood. Sure…that was my childhood…only…it wasn’t.

I remember the day I suddenly realized that it was all a lie…a fantasy. It has been so long now that I cannot remember if it was before or after I realized that I could not remember growing up with my sister. It is as if she did not exist…yet I know for fact she was there…in the same house with me.

So many things are buried in the mists of amnesia with a tiny flash of a snippet here and there that blazes through so fast that I can barely figure out what just went by. Yet…those flashes ARE there. And I do have the photographs. My sister was there. Some of the photos I took…yet, I can barely see anything beyond the photos themselves. Whatever I see is more like a surreal picture in my mind.

She died on my birthday. At least…I am told she died. I saw what was supposed to be her body…but it sometimes haunts me to this day. I know she was becoming “inconvenient”. I would not put it past them to agree behind closed doors while pretending to hate each other to me. Two families…warring for her body. It was sick. It was insane. It was my sister.

I will never get the chance to get to know her. Her living…except for the few times in the later years when I finally did meet up with her…is buried deep within. What I do remember makes me wonder if I really want to remember the rest. I don’t know. Maybe I should just create a life with her just like I created a life of my own? No…I want to honor her by remembering the truth…if I can.

Bittersweet Memories

This is a time of year when I tend to think more about my family of origin…or foo…as some refer to theirs. Thinking about foo always brings mixed feelings.

I can remember “good” times…like when we waited with great anticipation to see if it would snow by Christmas. I recall the wonderful feelings I had looking out at the falling flakes…all fluffy and white. Or the excitement of looking out the window in the morning and seeing the ground all covered with a thick layer of white.

And then, if I am not careful, the intense emotion starts to hit. For some reason…even remembering good things tends to lead to emotional overload. I don’t know why. Even the best of memories can start me on that roller coaster ride of emotions. Why?

Perhaps it is because my memories seem to be so few…so scattered. Could it be that all the good that is buried comes to the surface in those few glimpses of the past? Or could it be that painful memories are masked by that intense “good” feeling…that “good” memory. Could it be that the intensity of good emotions…an intensity so strong as to be “painful”…is just a coverup for the very real pain lying underneath? Could the intensity be a way of my system telling me not to trust that the good feelings were all there was? A way of telling me that I need to keep looking…that there are hidden painful things I need to be open to seeing? I don’t know.

I think of Christmas and the wonder of it all. There is always one particular Christmas that comes to mind. I remember the house. I remember the location…even the address. I remember looking for the snow. I remember my sister and I getting matching pj’s for Christmas. I remember getting a Mary Poppins book. I can almost smell the tree. I get an emotional “feeling” or sensation that I was feeling then. I can see the lights on the tree in the darkened room. What I cannot see…is my sister.

I know she is there, but like so much of her life…I cannot see her. I cannot remember her. We lived in the same house for 10 years and I can barely remember her a handful of times during our growing up years…at the most. I am thankful to have been able to connect with her at least a little before she died.

I cannot remember my parents on that Christmas, either; but I know/sense they are there…lurking somewhere on the edge of my “vision”…with my sister. I do remember more of my parents than I do of my sister. Then again…I guess that is not saying much, is it?

Memories are funny. You cannot select only the bad ones to “forget” or to bury. The good ones go, too.

I am starting to feel older. I know my parents are very elderly by now. Although there has been some email contact…it has not really gone anywhere. And that, too, is bittersweet. Well…maybe just bitter. There isn’t really any sweetness about it. I have done what I could. I have opened the door and allowed them to see that they can still get hold of me (should they ever decide to confess, etc. ) There are things I wish we could talk about…things I wish I could ask…but I know they are not in that place…at least not yet.

This year, I am thinking of Hanukkah more than I am of Christmas. After all, we know Yeshua was not born even in this time of year, let alone on the 25th. So, for me, it is almost a cultural/social holiday…even though I think a lot of Yeshua’s coming…then and in the future. But this is the first year that I am thinking more of Hanukkah.

My foo never celebrated Hanukkah. In fact, I have a feeling that my father would probably be very disapproving. Oh, well. There was a miracle of lights…so legend has it. I think of how the Light of the World came to dwell amongst us. I think of the miracle of the lights represented by Hanukkah. It is not hard to link them together.

I also think of how light has come to me in my healing walk. So much darkness in my past…darkness that has…over time…been slowly replaced with light. I don’t doubt that there is more darkness in there to be revealed…I am OK with that. I know that the Lord of light…the very Light of the World…is here with me to walk me through whatever more is there to be revealed. I know I can count on Him to never leave me or forsake me…to never abandon me.

Do my parents think of me during this time? Do they even care? Does it even matter? They cannot change my healing. I cannot change them. Yet…I hope that during this Hanukkah time…they will allow the only One who can bring true deep and lasting healing to truly be a part of their lives. I hope they accept His love for them and that they, too, will be healed.

People are not born abusers. They are born with a propensity to selfishness, yes. They are born fallen creatures in a fallen world wanting their own way. But cruel abusers? No…they are made into that…not born that. Whatever my parents (and other abusers) went through…I hope they find healing. I hope they can bring all that darkness inside to the true Light of the world…Yeshua. I hope that they, too, can find healing Shalom…real peace…even in the midst of their pain.

Inner Movement and Appearances

I was sitting here trying to work on something else and my mind just kept swirling around. It was difficult to focus. So, I decided to come write here instead.

What is going on? I suspect it is mostly the recognition that there is still deep work to do. It is as if there is movement inside…just under the surface…a movement that reminds me there are still voices to listen to. There are stories to be told…missing chapters to uncover in the book of my life. I was reminded of that in a phone conversation I had yesterday with a well known (and I am sure very busy)  therapist who gave very graciously of his time. I am very grateful for the opportunity I had to talk with him and ask him questions.

My life is full…and sometimes it feels overfull…to my way of thinking. To others, it may seem to be fairly quiet and sedate, but not to me. It does not take much for me to feel a bit overwhelmed…for me to feel the weight of trying to do things…and to appear “normal” through it all. I experience the pressure of needing to either participate in things…or have a good reason to give why I am not or why I can’t. When I say a “good” reason…I mean one that others can understand and accept without me feeling vulnerable.

As I write that, I realize how that sounds. Truth is…I owe no one any kind of explanation. Yet…there are some people that I believe I do. When I take on a project (some of which are not really optional for reasons I cannot go into here), there are certain expectations. If I am unable to meet them, then someone else has to pull my weight. That creates an inner conflict. I neither want to be seen as a shirker…nor as weak. Why do I care? Integrity. A good name is valuable…so, yes, I do care about anything that I perceive could possibly effect my good name.

I also care about not looking like I am crazy or something. I guess the only real assurance of that is the fact that people see me all the time functioning fairly well. So, if I sometimes have difficulty and explain that I have PTSD, I guess I probably come across as “normal”…which I am for someone who has been through what I have been through. Still…I don’t like to stand out…especially in negative ways.

 

Being Thankful?

Years ago, I remember struggling so much with life that it was difficult to find things about it to enjoy…things to be thankful for. There were times when I had to really work at it. It seemed like life was hitting me constantly and I could barely even catch my breath…let alone truly enjoy life.

It is much easier now to find things to be thankful for…to see the blessings in my life. Still…there can be those moments when I am triggered and all I can think about is getting through the next moment. I am thankful that those days are few and far between compared to what they used to be like.

My living situation is going to change…for the better. Hopefully, it will happen before winter…but it may not. I am very thankful for the upcoming change. However…with that change I know there are going to come challenges.  I have been holding things under the surface of the pool of amnesia. I have not really had any choice in the matter due to my current living situation. But what will happen when it all changes?

Although the new situation will free me up in many ways…I am also aware that it will free up other things…things that have been hidden for a very long time and buried deep within. While I am sure that some of the “calm” that I have been experiencing is the result of hard work and healing…I cannot help but wonder how much of it is simply that I have had to stay in shut down mode. How much will start surfacing…screaming for attention…when my situation no longer forces me to keep it all inside?

Sometimes I get vague flashes of things…kind of like what another blogger wrote in his post: Opening Yourself Can Tire Most Kids.  Michael wrote, “You reach inside, focusing on a part that has rarely seen the light of day, or a memory that gets recalled only when you see a phrase or two on another’s blog and so you must go within to retrieve that just-now-remembered something from your inner Self.”

I relate to that. Thing is…it is very difficult for me to get even the flashes. It is harder still to get to whatever is behind them. Will that change when my living situation changes? It very well might. In fact, I am hoping it will.

So…what does have to do with being thankful? Well…I guess I am pondering if I will still be thankful when the good changes also allow a lot of pain to come to the surface…when the relative calm inside that I have been experiencing more and more gets disrupted by the storms of healing.  Will I still be thankful?

I think I will. I want to move forward…no matter how hard it is. One foot in front of the other. I want to understand more about who I am and what I have been through. I want to know whatever it is that I need to know in order to move forward.

I have relied upon my Creator for my healing. I have trusted Him to show me the truth…in the right time and in the best way. He has never failed me. My heavenly Abba has been holding my heart all along. For that…I am very thankful.

My husband…what can I say about him? He has been so patient…even when I know he has been extremely frustrated with me. The change will effect us, too…how we are able to relate to one another. Huge changes are on the way. While I look forward to them…I am also terrified of them…if I get really honest with myself. I have hope…and I have trepidation. The potential taps into some very deep things.

Yet…I am determined to be thankful. I have learned that being thankful is not something I feel…it is something I choose to do. I decide. I have choice. And this choice no one can take away from me. My abusers took a lot of my choices away…but they can never take this one.

Sharing and Grounding

I just read a post called: Trauma Therapy Tools: Grounding. It is on The Survivor Manual blog done by the Angela Shelton Foundation. This particular post is written by Dr. Kathleen Young.

Boy, did it hit home with me. She writes about how to learn how to stay present…especially in doing healing work. This is especially true of when sharing our stories. While we need to share our stories, how and when we do it can be either a positive thing or a negative thing. Telling before developing coping skills can lead to retraumatization.

One thing she wrote that really stood out to me is this:  “In fact, some trauma survivors are able to tell their stories easily, but in a dissociated manner.”

I have noticed how I can often talk about being a ritual abuse survivor without it effecting me. Sometimes, I can even describe some of it (in general) without it effecting me. I can sit and let my mind wander back over it…and just not be all that bothered. If I am not careful, it makes me wonder if what I remember is even real.

Then there are those times when I will allow my mind to wander a little too closely. As I really start to think about what happened, I find the dissociated emotions starting to kick in and reconnect with the visuals. I find myself choking up. At times, this can even lead to more memories.

I want to be able to talk to someone about this…yet…talking does make it more real.It is as if…by not really talking about it…I am able to keep it to the side…within the realm of “maybe it is not real”. If/when I start to really talk about it…one of two things happens. I either push it farther away and feel almost as if I am trying to deceive someone…or the emotions come closer…making it more real.

It is like this tug of war…less real vs more real. Typically, I stay somewhere in the middle of it all…caught between not wanting it to be real and wanting to reconnect it all together because I know that it is real.  I want to be able to have the freedom to actually talk about it…to describe the bits and pieces that try to float through my consciousness. Yet…when I try to grab those bits and pieces…I think I tend to automatically dissociate it away.

Everyone has to do healing in whatever way works best for them. For me…to do life…pretty much means to present in a mono-minded fashion. It also means to not talk much about the RA or allow it to “effect” me. Dealing with RA means dealing with those parts of myself that hold the memories the closest. I have no real avenue for doing that. I wish I did. I wish my environment at least allowed me to do it with myself. I don’t even have that.

There is power in the spoken word. There are things I can barely even write about (unless I do it in that unphased state — dissociation). Even less can I verbalize about them. Speaking it has power. It makes it real. It is validating. It starts to reconnect the emotion to the event…which is probably why I find myself so distanced from the emotions. It is probably also why, when I do start to speak of it, my mind tells me that I am being deceptive…that it could not possibly be real because of the lack of emotion.

A Catch-22. If I speak…the emotions can come more easily. The emotions are validating. My mind…in order to protect me…instantly holds the emotions at bay…keeping them back. The lack of emotions feels like deception…so memories must not be real. What a circle:   Speaking brings the emotions. Mind holds emotions back. So speaking feels like deception. So validation turns into subtle denial.

Reading that post led me into this train of thought. Dr. Young has a more complete post on her blog. I am going to go read it:
Staying Present During Trauma Therapy: Grounding Techniques and see what else comes up.

Fighting? Quitting? Choices!

OK…there are choices to be made…especially when life is hitting really hard. I can give up…or I can fight. I have to almost laugh because I have never really quite figured out what “giving up” looks like. The only thing I really know how to do is fight. I might be fighting on my hands and knees. I might be fighting curled up in a ball. I might be fighting simply by getting out of bed in the morning. I might be fighting by choosing to live life to the fullest that I can.

Fighting might mean making a phone call. Fighting might mean taking SamE. Fighting might mean writing or praying or studying or listening or any of the other things I might try to do to cope. It might mean sitting quietly. It might mean talking about the abuse and trying to educate others. It might mean just riding things out. It might mean never giving up my trust in my Creator.

Whatever form it takes…I know how to fight. I just don’t know how to quit.

I do know to walk away from things. It is especially important to walk away from unhealthy things…or things that make it worse. I also know how to run away…in the positive sense that I should run as fast and as far as I can from those people and things that drag me down. Walking away and running away (in this sense) are not quitting. So, what exactly IS quitting? I really don’t know.

Is it going catatonic? Can’t imagine going there. Well, let me correct that…I CAN imagine it. Thing is…I don’t like what I imagine about it. I don’t like giving up control. Nope…not for me. Is it not getting up in the morning? Well, having a son to teach makes that not workable. He means too much to me. He means enough to get me out of bed in the morning…even when I am tired and my back is aching.

Perhaps it means becoming a grumpus who snaps at everyone around me. Well…I cannot honestly say that I have not been that at times. Thing is…I love my guys too much to remain that way. I also love myself too much to remain that way. And then there is another aspect to that, too. If I stay in that mode of thinking, I start to spiral down into hopelessness and helplessness…which is a dangerous place for me to be.

So…I will fight…and I will continue to fight for as long as it takes. I will not quit. I will not give up. I might have to give up some of my desires in life…but I will not give up on life itself. Nor will I give up on healing or on myself. I will not give up on the Creator, either.

I will fight!

Sometimes…

Sometimes…I just want to scream…or cry…or curl up in a ball…or…something!

Sometimes…I don’t know what I am feeling…sad…mad…resigned…hurt…wounded…apathetic…or…something.

I get tired of this life. I get tired of being wounded. I get tired of struggling…of feeling alone…of others just not getting it and me being unable to help them get it…or fearful to even try because they might think I am as weird as I sometimes feel.

Yet…in all of this…I do know who I am…well, in the big picture anyway. I am kind of clueless at times as to all of my inner workings in the here and now. But in eternity…in the big picture…I know I am the Creator’s. I know He loves me and will take me Home someday. Oh, how I sometimes long to go there.

No more PTSD. No more tears. No more sickness. No more dying. No more abuse. A place of peace and wonder and real, genuine, honest-to-goodness love between people…perfect love. No more wondering where I stand with anyone. No more wondering if my parents even desire any kind of relationship with me…or if they are even able to have one. No more wondering if they…or anyone else…is really safe.

I will continue to hope…even when it feels as if there is nothing to hope for. My emotions can lie to me. I know the truth and I choose to live in it…even when it is hard…or difficult. Life all comes down to choices. Will I live for the One who created me? Or will I live for myself? Will I love others? Or only myself? Will I give? Or will I only take?

I will continue to put one foot in front of another. I will take each day as it comes. I will life on the Creator’s terms…not on my own.

Step One Taken

I called the state licensing board and got…again…the info on filing a complaint. Apparently, you no longer have to live in the state to file a complaint. Now I need to either find what I had before…or rewrite something up. I need strength to do this…as it is difficult to not be very triggered and get very emotional as I think all of this through…again. I have to face it all again in order to write it out. Talk about PTSD! Ack!!!

I know that this will ultimate bring about healing…but I also know I will go through more hell before it is over.