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.

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

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

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