Survival

For the past two weeks I've been thinking about something that was said in my last counseling session. It was such a fleeting moment, but the words resonate with me and I keep hearing them over and over again. It was a really powerful moment, and I think I really needed to hear it.

After reading aloud my proclamation of being a survivor and what I have survived two times I had a moment of clarity. For some reason I remembered a childhood moment of survival. She said something along the lines of, "If you were in here today as that little girl you know DCFS would have taken her." ... bam! I had grown up wishing and praying to be taken away. I couldn't tell you what triggered it, but I rode my bike two miles away to a payphone behind a dance studio. I called the child abuse hotline that I saw on a shopping cart at a local grocery store. I instantly memorized it when I saw it. 1-800-4-a-child. Terrified and desperate I called that number thinking it wouldn't go thru because I didn't have any money...but it did...someone answered! I started trembling and crying. The woman sounded so kind-I'll never forget it. But my voice failed. I had no idea what to say. Would they think I was just playing games making prank calls? That's what happened when I called 911 from under my bed...So I just hung up and rode my bike forever. It gives me chills just thinking about it....but I just let myself think about it and feel whatever comes up with that because I believe it's really important. It's strange to think that I might have been a foster child if only someone had recognized what was happening. If only I found the words that day...who knows what would have happened? My entire life would be different. I'm grateful for the life I have now, and I obviously can't imagine anything else...but I can't help but let my imagination wander a little bit.

Then I think about the stairs at the lake house. That is absolutely my most favorite place in the whole world. I used to lie down on one of the stairs because it fit my body so perfectly. From head to toe I would be able to completely fit on the single stair-my head in the corner and my feet against the post. I can't bring myself to take a picture of it. Lately, though, I keep picturing myself there... I.was.so.small. How could someone that small go through so much and fight like a bamf the whole time? I am so amazed with myself. It's a horrible reason, but seriously...look at what I survived and I was able to stay relatively healthy and take care of myself. Damn.

When I found this picture months ago I felt like I was pierced right through the heart. I resembled this little one when I was small. But I think I have to post it today...it just seems fitting.

Unbreakable reflections

Her spirit sparked and those eyes of hers ignited after a long wait lifelessly hanging on the ledge. So many exhausting years spent holding up that leaking dam only moments away from crumbling...desperately waiting for someone to help hold it all. But there was another way. A humble safety net was just behind her. It certainly will keep her afloat. All she had to do was...let go and turn around.

Her soul flew freely, finally released from the chains--the words, that bound her. Something so simple, a connected...shared witnessing of experience captured permanently in a photograph and I am free from those words forever. 

She used to close her eyes to memorize the pain...it was the only truth she knew. But now, when her eyes are closed, she reaches for the memory that made her feel strong.  One week ago, I stood in a park in the middle of the city holding a poster covered with painful words written by my trembling hand for a single photo... I am not ashamed of the fear I felt and the anonymity I wanted to keep. Even though my hands were shaking I wrote those words. My face was covered, but I stood confidently as the photo was taken.

http://projectunbreakable.tumblr.com/

Thanks for the inspiration, Jess ♥

Verbal vomit

It's no surprise that I've been struggling off and on the past few weeks. There are many things on my mind, but it's hard to wade through all of the bullshit my brain puts in the way. It's very disappointing because I've been doing so well lately. I've been upbeat, positive, optimistic, motivated, and strong. I can't help but feel that this is a set back.

One particular struggle I'm having is the constant fear and terror I feel just being home. I've set such firm boundaries with the abusers I still have contact with, that I'm anxiously anticipating their retaliation. I shouldn't have to live that way, but the fear is very strong and I immediately go into survival mode: walking around my car checking for people or damage, driving around the block before pulling into the parking lot, checking out the window before going outside, locking my car the minute I sit down. If I see any of the same model of car they have I feel the panic surge through my body. Every time my phone rings, an alert comes through for my email or there's a knock at the door or I can hear a car in the parking lot...I panic.

Another issue is tutor. I think I disgusted him as much as I disgust myself. Long story short, I confessed that I have clammy hands when I'm nervous when he tried to hold my hand. That date ended awkwardly (and the was also the day my dad showed up at my apartment uninvited at 10 pm). Then I was busy when he tried to contact me, then my phone died, then I contacted him explaining and no word from him. Several days later I reached out to see how he was doing. He tried to flirt with me via text message and I made an awkward joke about my clammy hands again (just teasing myself) and no response. I reached out one last time and he responded very curtly and did not continue the conversation. I'm disappointed. I'm confused as well. I don't know if this is my crazy train or what. it feels like he's completely lost interest. Yes we are both busy. Yes he's been very bad at communicating via technology. Last week he admitted he was stressed and exhausted (which lead to the flirting text message and my subsequent bad joke and no response) but the whole vibe is different. I feel like the crazy stalker girl who keeps texting despite the obvious disinterest and short responses. I have been honest and upfront without crossing my own boundaries or giving too much information. I have respected my own comfort and feelings and responded accordingly. I guess it is what it is. I'm not going to keep trying. "He's just not that into you." ...but this leads to crazy train of self-disgust, anger and hopelessness. No need to get into excruciating detail about how mean I've been to myself.

Next is the latest flashback/trauma memory issue. I remembered some new details about my survival tactics. The abuse memories are the same. However, I have been reacting to them more intensely. I have felt the pain again, the feelings of intense fear and confusion, and the sensations on my body parts....and felt the urge to clean myself...disinfect. That has only happened a handful of times. But I suppose it's cause for concern-rubbing alcohol is not supposed to be used for feminine hygiene, but that was all I could think of to do to clean myself when it happened. That's what I did whenever I was injured, though. But this could never be spoken of...ever! I can't stand those sensations. When it's the first thing I experience when I wake up in the morning, I'm in a weakened state to respond appropriately. The trouble is, however, that the disgust, shame, and self-deprecation linger. I internalize them. Then they pinball off of the other stresses I've described and others that I will not. They intensify and get out of control. Now please refer to my "Kryptonite" and "Next stop crazy town" posts, because that's what happens next. It becomes a vacuum and I get trapped within the cyclone.

All of this happens randomly, with or without my awareness, and the next thing I know hours have gone by. One last thing on the change to the "cycle"...It's very hard to explain, but I feel sideways? Like my body is one direction and my brain is another. For example I was sitting on the couch last night just enjoying the crazy train ride and it felt like my head was to my right, next to me. I felt a bit dizzy and really "out of it". That's how I've described it to my friends. Today my mind is slow (no I didn't have my usual coffee so that could be it...) but it's just odd. Different. I'm still trying to pay attention to my body, what my mind is doing, and trying to differentiate crazy train from reality. I have tried reaching out when I need to and taking care of myself when all other options were exhausted or failed. Hopefully I've processed through this enough and I can get a sound sleep, without nightmares tonight. Last night's dream was sick...too vulgar to post. All I'll say is my mom was watching something happen. Just gross... and that's where things begin. The dream, wake up with that feeling, shudder...then it lingers and everything follows.Then it bounces back and forth with every other issue I'm struggling with abuse related or otherwise, financial issues, job stress, friend stress, fear...

Sorry for the length of this post. I just needed to vent. Thanks for reading if you made it through.

Until next time,
SS

It's been a while

This is the song I've been listening to over and over again throughout this whole dating process. It brings me comfort and helps me dream about a happy and safe life...something I've only ever imagined and fantasized about.

And that fantasy is what keeps me going on this really uncomfortable and super awkward journey. Here is a glimpse into how it began...we'll see where it goes from here~

Awkward situation #1: We were introduced by my employer (one of them anyway). I have been working with and babysitting her adopted daughter for nearly 5 years. He's her summer math and keyboarding tutor. Employer confronts me and asks if I'm single. After some brief discussion, the glint in her eye grows as she tells me her daughter's tutor is coming in an hour and that her daughter needs to shower and change before he gets there. She tells me a bit about him and asks if I might be interested in him and to let her know when he leaves. I make polite inquiries and conversation. She encourages me to ask him when he arrives and she saunters off upstairs to shower and get ready herself. After the hour long tutor session is up, employer confronts him...asks him the same questions and requests to exchange both of our emails/phone numbers. On the spot...people aren't going to say no when they know the other person is in the other room. So that was unpleasant. Employer, however, was thrilled and immediately forwarded me his email address and strongly encourages me to contact him. So I do...

Awkward situation #2: He returns my email days later and leaves no room for conversation. He simply ends with "We should chat sometime." ...Uh...yeah....we should. The end. So I don't respond. Weird. Whatever, game over! The next week I'm working again. Low and behold there are post-it notes for me from employer saying Tutor comes again today. Cue text messages from employer..."Don't forget to ask Tutor how she did today." uncomfortable. He shows up and asks if I got his email. me-"Yes I did." him- "You didn't like it?" me-"I wasn't exactly sure what to say...she's all yours, here ya go!" I respond to his email while he's tutoring.... "Yes we should." Fast forward and tutor session is up and he sticks around looking at the books I ordered through the family on Amazon and he's text messaging me while I'm in the other room. me-"Welp, it's time for us to run our errands! We'll see you later! Bye!" .... He leaves and child says, "Do you think he likes you?" ughhh.... me- "I don't know? What makes you say that" her-"I don't know, I think he does...oooooo!" me-"Oh please, get in the car, we have errands to run." "I'm just saying..."

A couple of text message chats for the next two weeks or so. I go on vacation, he runs a half marathon. We decide to have our first date when he recovers...and that's enough for now. The awkward situations that followed will not have their full effect if I just quickly ramble through them.

So until next time...

Oye.
Still Secretly Surviving...

The Color of Melancholy

They say that the eyes are a window into a person's soul. When I look into my own eyes I see complication, I see restraint. Have you ever watched your eyes as they cry? There is mysterious beauty in their work. Watching my own eyes as I cry is cathartic in a very simple way. My chest pulls like the strings on a guitar with the deep breaths I force into my lungs. I hear a voice in my head narrating haunting poetry..."her eyes, the color of melancholy"...and I just nod in agreement. Gray. The color of the ocean beneath heavy clouds, moments before a storm.

Another trip around the sun

It seems that it's everyday now, that I put another piece of the puzzle into place. New memories emerge and connections are being made more often. Now the image of my pink bike with white and purple polka-dot banana seat makes sense. I couldn't sit down on it and had to ride home standing up after being sexually abused  by my neighbor while playing hide-and-seek-in-the-dark in his basement. Now I know why falling and splitting the beam in gymnastics practices hurt me so much more than the other gymnasts. I insisted on an icepack ...and would sit on it in a dark room on the couch icing myself...and would eventually fall asleep. That was my escape every time to fall asleep. My coaches and teammates thought I was such a baby...they would get so irritated with me. I had no idea how to communicate to anyone though...I lived my life believing I was "silly" "sensitive" a "cry-baby"...until I shut down...
Anyway, I've been working really hard in counseling the past few months too. It's amazing how quickly things start moving once I'm in the right place and I allow everything to flow from those dark places. I still resist a lot...and censor at times. There are somethings that I don't think I will ever be able to say out loud. But that's okay for now....I have made a lot of progress. Haha! I said it!

The real reason for this post is....tomorrow is my birthday. I've been working toward my own "Growth" in 2012 as a goal I've set for myself in place of a Resolution. In this upcoming odd-numbered year of my twenties, I think I want to focus on something else as well. I'm not really sure what. I have made so many wishes on my birthday each year. I think I've stopped making them, because...well, hoping for my future didn't seem to be worth it. But now, I'm willing to try again....



This song makes me cry every time I hear it. Not in sadness, though. There is so much hope within the words; so much love. Those are two things that I rarely experience. I think that's what I'll wish for...Hope and love in my life this year, and for all of my years to come.

Happy Birthday to me :)

~SS

Mirror, mirror...

Disgust: to cause loathing or nausea in. 

Synonyms: 1.  sicken, nauseate. 2.  repel, revolt. 4.  abhorrence

When I look at myself that is what I feel. When I put on my makeup in the morning or do my hair, brush my teeth...anything that requires a mirror, I do not "look" at me. I look at what I'm doing. My eyelid, my tooth, the section of hair I'm working with...but not the whole thing; not me. I use a small round mirror to make that easier. I only look at what I need. The full length mirror I have is on the floor, not mounted so I can never see the entire thing. There will always be a disconnect from my body....I never have to look at the face that is attached to the body that reflects back. Every now and then I'll be sitting at my desk/computer and I'll catch a glimpse of my entire face in the mirror where I do put on my makeup. I will literally turn away with disgust and push the mirror back or shift the angle so that I cannot see my own reflection. 

One of her favorite things to say to me was, "Mirror, mirror on the wall...I've turned into my mother after all." 

I look like her; everybody says it but that's exactly what I'm afraid of.

Love

“Abused children receive confusing messages about sex and love, trust and betrayal. The abuser often says, “I’m doing this because I love you,” and then proceeds to hurt the child. The child learns she can’t trust the people she loves, and that she doesn’t have a choice about being close to someone else; people take what they want, regardless. Love becomes a dangerous force, wrought with confusion, pain, and violation.” Allies in Healing by Laura Davis

These are some random compilations of a "journal" entry I made just about a year ago...some of the feelings are the same, some have changed and improved.

Is it really that hard to believe that I am alive right now? I am not fully alive. I feel dead. I feel so fragmented. I feel empty...but not all the time. I've said it before, though, that the "sometimes feeling okay" is worse. It's a tease. "I know why the caged bird sings"..."Just as a bird that flies about and beats itself against the cage, finding at last no passage out it sits and sings and so overcomes its rage." ....I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock. I am an island. A rock feels no pain, and an island never cries....In order for me to be "normal" I would have to do things to people that I don't want to do and it's all just a vicious cycle. Because it's "normal" and "healthy" and that's what makes me a waste. Because I chose not to be promiscuous...I was told I was a waste of a vagina... as if that was my only use, my only purpose was for other people's use. Kindness and gentleness is an illusion. Fairytale love is a lie. Love is dirty. Love is painful. Love is shame. Love makes you cry. Love makes you feel worthless. Love makes you feel scared and confused. Love is forced. Love is meaningless. Love makes you want to hide. Love makes you want to be alone. Love makes you feel sick. Nobody will ever "love" me again....

Nobody has shown me what love really means.

Poems

"Incested.

She learned real young in life, in order to get by she must do what is expected and never question why...
It didn't seem to matter how she felt- or why she cried... Each time she was Incested more child-likeness died...
Too young to understand why she deserved the thing-she buried her emotions and the torture it would bring.
He said that she must never tell another living soul- too small to know the reason, yet...she knew...she wasn't whole.
She felt it was imprinted for all the world to see- I am dirty, I am ugly, please.. Don't look at me.
She'd never heard of incest yet she knew its symptoms well... The harder that she tried, it seemed, the harder then she fell...
She knew she was responsible for everybody's pain- so she tried hard to fix it over... And over...again."

-unknown

"A Choice"

She had no choice when she was little,
She thought she must obey
She wanted it all to stop
But she did not see a way

Like a lamb to the slaughter
Over and over again
She felt so very helpless--
When would it ever end?

Was life supposed to hurt so much?
What had she done wrong--
To deserve to be used like this?
She thought on it hard and long

If she could only figure out
The reason she was so "bad"
Maybe she could make it all stop
It was the only hope she had

But no matter how good she was,
No matter how hard she tried,
The nightmare went on and on--
And something in her died

"There is no hope for me," she thought
"I guess I'm just too bad"--
And so day followed weary day
For a child who was always sad

Eventually it did all end,
This killing of her soul--
But by then it hardly mattered
She would never be whole

She blocked it all from her mind
But it shaped her whole life
She grew up not understanding
This pain that cut like a knife

Then one day it all came flooding back
It was almost too much to take--
After trying to deny it, she had to admit,
There was no way it could be fake

But, accepting it and dealing with it
Are two very different things
And it would be years before she started
The journey that healing brings

This is, of course, MY story,
That little girl was me--
I was the one who had no choice,
Only the longing to be free

Now I struggle on day by day,
I have a worthy goal--
To overcome the abuse of my past
To someday, somehow, be whole

There are many obstacles to deal with
And the way grows very long,
But as I face each new step
I find I have grown strong

Hope wells up within me--
I believe this can be done
Standing tall, I take a deep breath
And turn my face in to the sun

No longer a child, now I have a choice
And no one can take that away--
I am no longer helplessly obedient
To healing, I am finding a way.

- Author Unknown...but I love it.

Little girl

Little girl with long blond hair
hides in her room again tonight.
Another long day has come to an end,
maybe this time she'll get it right.
Her desperate prayers have got to be wrong.
His answers shouldn't take this long.
She dials His number and recites the words,
...nobody ever seems to be home.
She looks out the window and checks the sky
...the lights are on but nobody answers the phone.
So she fixes her nightgown and crawls back into bed,
she straightens her blankets and lays down her head.
This little girl with long blond hair
will wait another night for someone to care.

Blond haired girl with eyes of gray
wakes up alone, just another day.
She goes through the motions like the day before
never thinking there might be something more.
This life of hers is as good as it gets
she "should be grateful and have no regrets."
But the pain inside just grows and grows
This poor girl hurts and nobody knows...

...it won't stop hurting. I can't make it go away. I can't stop crying on this miserable day. I keep on praying, but it doesn't help at all. I can't last much longer. Who will notice my fall? I'm screaming inside, but no one can hear. I'm dying inside, all I feel is fear. I'm so tired of always feeling cold. I'm sick of not having a hand to hold. I'm sick and tired of coming in second place. I hate closing my eyes and seeing your face. Everyone seems too busy to care. It's not like I expect them to notice or share, but why can't they look? Why don't they see that I am not who I am pretending to be. So many tears still roll down my face, leaving behind only but a trace, of many painful memories that can never be erased...

She writes these words in a desperate plea, hoping to God that someone might see.

Another tearful night but she doesn't muffle her cries
praying the Lord will take her soul when she dies.
The blond haired girl is little no more.
Looking back makes her sick, sick to her core.

...Sometimes the hurting subsides, but it never goes away. It only perpetuates the cycle that I believe will always stay. I'm so afraid to cry, to believe, admit, or even ask why. So I just doubt, second guess, and justify all of the confusion I feel inside...

In case you haven't noticed, if you don't see,
this poem is a story all about me.

...I have a secret that nobody knows
shhhh! Should I tell? This is how it goes:
Everything I am is a happy cliche--big smiles, endless laughter
but that's only today. What happens behind closed doors? When the world gets in the way?
There's no point in screaming...nobody hears you anyway.

Raindrops on my windshield are the tears I cannot cry.
Loneliness surrounds me while life passes by.
Dreaming comes so easily because it's all that I've known.
Truth is a fairytale. I'm scared and I'm alone.
My darkest days are behind me, still nothing seems quite right,
as I sort my lost emotions on this long and sleepless night.
I know it's not just me who feels horrible inside.
I'm exhausted from always trying to expose these things I hide.
Yet, it's all just temporary--these things I do and say.
Maybe soon I will be able to heal.
Starting today...

~SS
written September 2010

I'm learning...

After awhile you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul. And you learn that love doesn't mean possession and company doesn't mean security. And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts, and presents aren't promises. And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child. You learn to build your roads today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans, and that futures have ways of falling down in mid-flight. After awhile you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much. So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong, you really do have worth; and you learn.
   ©1971 Veronica A. Shoffstall 

Pain

All I can think of is I’m glad I didn’t do it. I was so close but just couldn’t go through with it. After that I thought I was weak; too scared to take my life. But still no one even noticed that I had a problem. Everyone simply looked the other way. I was just passed by. It’s strange how I felt- I was so good at faking it, that everyone thought I was fine! I was just a happy-go-lucky and optimistic girl. It’s surprising how powerful you can feel when you are able to manipulate. I also felt crushed that nobody cared. Was I that good of an actress, I could just paint on a smile and everyone was convinced?  I was hurting so badly, and the only way I knew to make it go away I was too pathetic to do. I had the perfect plan, nothing would go wrong. It would have been done.  All I had to do was pull the trigger, sweaty in my nervous, fourteen year-old hand. There I was, in the basement, at my father's desk, in an empty house. But something made me put that gun down. I still don’t know what. I cried for days. I was ashamed and embarrassed of my helplessness. Still, nobody knew how close I was. Life just went on like nothing happened. Going back to school the next day...everything as it was the day before, but I was forever changed. Will I ever get to that point again? Could I ever actually do it? Can I promise myself that I will never feel that way again?

Awakening

I was laying in bed thinking, as I usually do, and I had a profound moment. I have been through a lot. I mean I have made it past a great number of experiences. A little over a year ago I was so broke that I applied for food stamps. When I was denied, I had to live on a grocery budget of $25 per month. I sold gold jewelry that my Grandmother gave me to pay my bills. I did my laundry at a friend's apartment...or blend in with the students and break into the laundry rooms at the local university. I refused to go back "home" to ask for money or to use their things. I refused to be guilt tripped and controlled, again, by those who abused me my entire life. I had finally broken free from their grasp. I didn't care how hard it was going to be. I was working 4 jobs (two of them were for no monetary compensation) and going to graduate school. ...It all just kind of hit me. I do value life, my own life...when for so long I was convinced that I didn't have any worth. If that's true than how in hell have I made it this far? Sometimes in those quiet solitary moments, just before you're greeted with sleep, you have a great awakening. A beautiful experience of strength and resilience. I am strong. Maybe I am a survivor...

Ghost

First of all, there is about to be a lot more self-disclosure here. I'm not exactly comfortable with it, but hopefully I can maintain some level of anonymity. I have been wanting to share this for a while so I'm just going to do it.

This is a charcoal "projective" technique I did in an art therapy class a few years ago. Our directions were to draw a scribble with our eyes closed and then complete the drawing...whatever it is and come up with a story about the image. We were then asked to title our drawings and hang them up around the room. Then the class was given the opportunity to discuss them and process them (if we wanted to). Projective techniques are supposed to tap into our unconscious selves. Those who wanted to share, did. Those who didn't want to, didn't-including me. Then everyone was asked if they have any they wanted to know more about-they all pointed to mine. I refused to share. Others' in the class were unrecognizable scribbles still. Others were turned into hearts and such. One woman's was titled "Woman of life and love" and resembled a woman sitting and hugging herself.

This is what came out of me. I am not an artist. I can't draw to save my life, at least not normally. I was shocked by this. I am actually a bit proud of it. My story was that this little girl was/is me as a ghost-sitting and staring at my own grave. I know that's terribly morbid, but in my story I was also born dead... so strange. But this is literally what popped in my head. I had to go with it and be honest. That's why I didn't want to share.

One of the diagnostic criteria for PTSD is a sense of a foreshortened future...meaning you don't believe you will live a long and fulfilling life. I had always believed I would never live past 18. All of my friends would punch me, but I truly did not see myself living into adulthood. I did this drawing in class just a few short months before my little triggering incident that sent me spiraling into my past and history of all sorts of abuse. But it was definitely a warning sign of what was to come.

I guess our subconscious really is much stronger than we think...and sometimes it will literally shout out to us in order to finally be heard.

Well...now that I am capable of receiving the messages, I'm finally listening.

~SS