Ch-ch-ch-changes

Okay just let me yammer on a bit to get this mess in my brain organized...
It seems that I stopped to tie my shoes or something for a brief second and everything that I have been working on and towards came stumbling over me and knocked me into a pile of my own healing. There have been work changes, therapy changes, life changes, personal changes, weather changes, emotional changes, physical changes all in the last 15 months. -I remember  the day because in February of last year I took a picture of myself the day I believed I started healing because I felt different. I even looked different and I wanted to document that change. (side bar, I have taken a few other pictures like that to prove to myself that there is a difference in me)- Now, from the outside looking in, these are all extremely hopeful and positive changes, things I have been working really hard for...what's the problem? But now that I'm not *just* working on them anymore it's like..."whoa okay life, let's relax for a minute." Now I have had a feeling that 2013 was going to be a fabulous year for me. I could and still kind of can feel it in my bones. But I still have a saboteur for a subconscious and it ruins everything! It makes me panic, makes me focus on how things are going to become more difficult despite the "positivity", focuses on the negative and tries to convince me that I'd be better off staying stuck, in a place I am not satisfied with, doing things that hold me back, and continuing with things that I really don't need anymore (or perhaps won't need in the future). And let's not forget the lovely thought, "what if you FAIL? what if it all comes down in flames, crash and burn. hahaha and you thought you could win this? Who do you think you are?"-it says to me...

So I understand how trauma works and all but this radical shift is mind blowing. I went from being "unaffected" by change in years past because I was so numb and hypervigilant that the chaos was expected and stored with the other traumas...I just knew how to keep rolling I guess until I finally stopped running and allowed it all to settle in its place, deal with any triggers and re-traumas, and eventually heal and continue on. Until this point in my life, however, I don't think I have ever hit that stopping point to allow everything to settle and fully heal in that plateau in order to regain strength and trek on. Now that I think I might finally be there, changes and good things are now terrifying and triggering and traumatizing in itself! What the heck? How messed up is that? Whatever.

Okay in true me fashion, I will abruptly stop talking now. When I look at these pictures I get the same feelings that I'm experiencing with all of these changes...

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.

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

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.

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

My first steps

When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed.
But when we are silent, we are still afraid.
So it is better to speak.
~ Audre Lorde ~ 

Well, I suppose I should introduce myself to start. I would like to remain somewhat anonymous here, but I will say that I am in my mid-twenties, I have a European background, and I grew up in the mid-west. I am educated and work in the social services industry. More importantly, I am an abuse survivor, and this is my first time admitting that "publicly". I must admit, this is terrifying...

And that is where my blogging experience begins.
My goals for this blog are simple. Although some of them are selfish in nature, I mostly hope to offer some sort of support, provide information, or perhaps just another way to pass some time. There is a good chance that I will be only one reading these posts.  In the off chance that another survivor does stumble across this, I hope you find strength and healing each day.

“Don't wish me happiness-I don't expect to be happy it's gotten beyond that, somehow. Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor-I will need them all.” 

~SS