A long time ago there lived a little girl, who was hurt by the things her mother said. She knew her mother didn't really love her because she never smiled at her unless she did something especially good. The little girl knew that as long as she kept being good and working hard that her mother would smile at her and like her for at least that moment. She lived for the smiles and the nice things her mother said when she did a good job. Most of the time she just tried to stay out of her mother's way. She learned to walk quietly, play quietly and never cry even when she was hurt. She had an invisible friend that she talked to and played with. Eventually her mother became angry and told the little girl she couldn't talk to her invisible friend anymore because it embarrassed her. So the little girl stopped talking to her friend out loud and holding hands. Her invisible friend went away because the little girl wouldn't play anymore and pretended the invisible friend wasn't there when other people were there. The little girl was sad that her friend left her alone.
The little girl also had a dog and loved that dog for many years. She talked to her dog and cried and dried many tears in her dog's coat over the years. She was careful that her mom never knew how much she told her dog or how much she loved her. She never did get her friend back but instead she created a whole group of people for a story that she told every night when she went to bed. The story lasted from the time she was five years old until she was twelve. By the time the little girl was twelve she knew that no one would ever come to rescue her and so she ended the story.
The little girl needed rescuing. She needed it for a long time. But who rescues little girls who don't look hurt? No one. When the little girl was eight years old she made her mother angry and her mother told her she was leaving and never coming back. The front door slammed and the little girl cried for a long time. She finally climbed up on the couch to look out the window to see if her mother was coming back. There on the porch sat her mother. The little girl decided that she needed to learn all she could about cooking and cleaning so she could take care of things when her mother left someday for real. She worked very hard for a long time. Her mother was never pleased with anything she did, it was never good enough. The little girl was growing up on the outside, but was growing old on the inside. When the little girl was ten she realized she could never make her mother happy with her and gave up trying. She did what she always did and worked hard, but she had lost hope. She did what she did to avoid the screaming and endless lectures; but of course it wasn't good enough for her mother. She learned so well to hide all traces of emotion from her face and body. That wasn't quite right, because it brought down new tirades and harder beatings. So the little girl adjusted and learned to keep the expression on her face that her mother expected her to have during the screaming sessions. She learned to cry enough and at the right point to satisfy her mother that it hurt enough when she was beaten. The little girl went through a stubborn phase where she refused to cry and declared that it didn't hurt. That didn't last long and it really hurt the little girl. She learned to cry even when she was still able to take it, because it would stop sooner if she cried just right. She never told her daddy about anything her mother ever did or said.
When the little girl was eleven she had a teacher who was kind to her and said nice things to her. He picked her to help put up bulletin boards. That had always been the most envied classroom helper job in school. But to the little girl who didn't look so little, it became the most dreaded. She did tell her mother that she didn't want to go to school anymore and wanted to tell her daddy that she didn't want to go but her mother forbade her to say anything. By the end of the school year the little girl was a shadow of herself. She still hasn't found the rest of her. She says the rest of her has been killed and the remains will never be found. The little girl's wishes are for the teacher who hurt her to be punished so he can't hurt anyone else again.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Go figure. I have a therapist.
God's timing is incredible. Just yesterday I was saying that there's no one to counsel me because $100 an hour is not an option. I'll stay messed up if it cost that much to put me to rights. :(
Well today I took my son to his appointment with yet another therapist. I didn't have any hope that it would help, but it was "recommended" by the pysch hospital he was in. I've learned the hard way that recommendations aren't optional, they are mandated, no matter how much they claim otherwise. So I took him. I drove up there 2 hours to get him from the children's home and then got lost downtown and couldn't find the place. I hate new places!! I called and the receptionist talked me in. I hate feeling stupid.
I think the session went very well. Z actually talked. He wasn't nice, but he did talk a bit. Eventually he decided to go to sleep. It wasn't that long of a session, a 50 minute hour. Well Dr. A and I talked some more and somehow, I am trying to remember how, she asked me if I had been abused. She's really gooood for that to "come up" in conversation. For the life of me I can't remember how it started going that direction. I found out that a federal law has been passed that gives me 7 years instead of 5 years to prosecute. I need that extra time. This year has been consumed with Z issues. I have more time now.
She also asked/told me "Who in your family abused you? You didn't tell about the teacher so someone in your family must have primed the pump that you didn't tell." I just sat there looking at her, dumbfounded. I never did answer her. I started messing with filling out Z's paperwork some more. She said that abusers who threaten kids lives, if they tell, are cowards. (Maybe that was the point where she asked about me?) She said she could tell by the look on my face that I didn't know that. I'm in my 30's pushing 40 and I didn't know that. I still don't think I "know" that. I don't believe it. I do believe that he was scared to be found out, but I also believe that he would kill me if he could. I believe that he tried to set me up for that when I was 19. Cowards can kill. I'm still afraid.
I'm not sure how much Z got out of his session, but I got a lot. So much so that I called back twice this afternoon. Once was to find out what she was. She's a pyschologist. The second time was to actually talk to her to see if there was anyone like her near where I lived. She said she is one of a kind and laughed. We talked for a bit about if there was anyone closer and equal. She asked if it just clicked when we talked. I said yes. She has another office 45 minutes closer to me. She gave me the number and said to tell them that she sent me and approves it. Dr. A said it's hard to get in because she is really busy, but that would get me in. I called the office and evidently I'm out of the area they are supposed to take from, but since Dr. A. sent me they would take me. I have an appointment in 3 weeks. The receptionist asked insurance type questions and then asked the question I hate to answer. What is the presenting problem for you to see the Dr? Dancing around the answer didn't help. She asked if it was depression etc. I said no. Eventually I had to answer "childhood sexual abuse". I can write like crazy and be very verbal in my writing but to actually say it with audible words is something very different. I'm really amazed that I was able to talk to Dr. A without too much stuttering. I didn't freeze up once, but then again it wasn't about me to begin with. Maybe that helped; but I think she is just really good. Also I'm in a place where there are people that I see on a regular basis that I'm learning to trust because my being here is permament and not temporary. That's really suprising considering that in the past year I've had a good number of people drop me. The last batch that drop-kicked me was especially vicious. Why do I keep trying? I don't want to be alone in a crowd or in my life.
I trust the pastor of the church we are now attending, although he knows nothing of my specific past. He's seen us at our worst, family wise; or at least close to worst. He hasn't seen us on the edge of divorce, but he is seeing us through a major crisis with Z. What's worse? a suicidal, thinking about divorce mother, crisis point in discovery concerning childhood sexual abuse; or a homicidal, suicidal son? It's almost a toss up in stress levels. I'm not sure which is worse.
I think 2 weeks ago Pastor D asked me about hope. The basic idea of it was if we were hopeful about the placement we are working towards for Z. I told him we don't hope. I refuse to hope for anything, it hurts too much when it doesn't work out. If I don't hope then it's ok.
I'm thinking that's not really biblical. But I don't really care right now. Hope is too scary. And that's the problem with this appointment that I have coming up. I'm trying not to hope, but it's really hard not to. Do I thank God for hope or get angry because I'm getting hopeful once again? Anger fights off fear and tears, which are by products of hope. I'm scared to look at this again. I think it was 3 lawyers that turned me down to prosecute my case. That makes me feel that what I went through isn't seen as any real big deal. But it was and is.
Well today I took my son to his appointment with yet another therapist. I didn't have any hope that it would help, but it was "recommended" by the pysch hospital he was in. I've learned the hard way that recommendations aren't optional, they are mandated, no matter how much they claim otherwise. So I took him. I drove up there 2 hours to get him from the children's home and then got lost downtown and couldn't find the place. I hate new places!! I called and the receptionist talked me in. I hate feeling stupid.
I think the session went very well. Z actually talked. He wasn't nice, but he did talk a bit. Eventually he decided to go to sleep. It wasn't that long of a session, a 50 minute hour. Well Dr. A and I talked some more and somehow, I am trying to remember how, she asked me if I had been abused. She's really gooood for that to "come up" in conversation. For the life of me I can't remember how it started going that direction. I found out that a federal law has been passed that gives me 7 years instead of 5 years to prosecute. I need that extra time. This year has been consumed with Z issues. I have more time now.
She also asked/told me "Who in your family abused you? You didn't tell about the teacher so someone in your family must have primed the pump that you didn't tell." I just sat there looking at her, dumbfounded. I never did answer her. I started messing with filling out Z's paperwork some more. She said that abusers who threaten kids lives, if they tell, are cowards. (Maybe that was the point where she asked about me?) She said she could tell by the look on my face that I didn't know that. I'm in my 30's pushing 40 and I didn't know that. I still don't think I "know" that. I don't believe it. I do believe that he was scared to be found out, but I also believe that he would kill me if he could. I believe that he tried to set me up for that when I was 19. Cowards can kill. I'm still afraid.
I'm not sure how much Z got out of his session, but I got a lot. So much so that I called back twice this afternoon. Once was to find out what she was. She's a pyschologist. The second time was to actually talk to her to see if there was anyone like her near where I lived. She said she is one of a kind and laughed. We talked for a bit about if there was anyone closer and equal. She asked if it just clicked when we talked. I said yes. She has another office 45 minutes closer to me. She gave me the number and said to tell them that she sent me and approves it. Dr. A said it's hard to get in because she is really busy, but that would get me in. I called the office and evidently I'm out of the area they are supposed to take from, but since Dr. A. sent me they would take me. I have an appointment in 3 weeks. The receptionist asked insurance type questions and then asked the question I hate to answer. What is the presenting problem for you to see the Dr? Dancing around the answer didn't help. She asked if it was depression etc. I said no. Eventually I had to answer "childhood sexual abuse". I can write like crazy and be very verbal in my writing but to actually say it with audible words is something very different. I'm really amazed that I was able to talk to Dr. A without too much stuttering. I didn't freeze up once, but then again it wasn't about me to begin with. Maybe that helped; but I think she is just really good. Also I'm in a place where there are people that I see on a regular basis that I'm learning to trust because my being here is permament and not temporary. That's really suprising considering that in the past year I've had a good number of people drop me. The last batch that drop-kicked me was especially vicious. Why do I keep trying? I don't want to be alone in a crowd or in my life.
I trust the pastor of the church we are now attending, although he knows nothing of my specific past. He's seen us at our worst, family wise; or at least close to worst. He hasn't seen us on the edge of divorce, but he is seeing us through a major crisis with Z. What's worse? a suicidal, thinking about divorce mother, crisis point in discovery concerning childhood sexual abuse; or a homicidal, suicidal son? It's almost a toss up in stress levels. I'm not sure which is worse.
I think 2 weeks ago Pastor D asked me about hope. The basic idea of it was if we were hopeful about the placement we are working towards for Z. I told him we don't hope. I refuse to hope for anything, it hurts too much when it doesn't work out. If I don't hope then it's ok.
I'm thinking that's not really biblical. But I don't really care right now. Hope is too scary. And that's the problem with this appointment that I have coming up. I'm trying not to hope, but it's really hard not to. Do I thank God for hope or get angry because I'm getting hopeful once again? Anger fights off fear and tears, which are by products of hope. I'm scared to look at this again. I think it was 3 lawyers that turned me down to prosecute my case. That makes me feel that what I went through isn't seen as any real big deal. But it was and is.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Blogging through Bold Love
I started reading Dan Allender's book, Bold Love, last night. I've read the foreword, the introduction and the first two chapters so far. I began to read faster as I saw myself in these pages. I couldn't see the words on the page for the tears in my eyes. I had thought I was handling things ok, but I realized that I'm not. I have either been on the edge of crying or crying for most of the day. It's hard to drive around like that. Casting Crowns has a song called "Stained Glass Masquarade" that fits me so well. I was listening to that and crying. Everything hurts. Whenever I think I can't possibly hurt anymore, something else happens and I find out that I can hurt worse than before. I'm so tired of hurting. I just want it to be over. I dared to reach out today to someone that I end up being around pretty often because of our kids. I think she won't hurt me with the knowledge she now has of our family. I hope not. "Hope" is what hurt and pain is before it happens.
Reading through a book quickly isn't going to be that much of a help. Just because I can check it off some list in my mind of things I've tried doesn't mean that I really tried. So I decided that I'm going to slow down and blog my way through this book. It's cheap counseling. I can't pay someone to listen to or counsel me, but as I write I do eventually think through things well enough to distill it down to more concise questions that I can pose a few at a time here and there to people.
I have the 1992 edition of Bold Love. I think there is a more recent version, but this is the one I picked up somewhere. I will give chapter and page number as I go along.
Reading through a book quickly isn't going to be that much of a help. Just because I can check it off some list in my mind of things I've tried doesn't mean that I really tried. So I decided that I'm going to slow down and blog my way through this book. It's cheap counseling. I can't pay someone to listen to or counsel me, but as I write I do eventually think through things well enough to distill it down to more concise questions that I can pose a few at a time here and there to people.
I have the 1992 edition of Bold Love. I think there is a more recent version, but this is the one I picked up somewhere. I will give chapter and page number as I go along.
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