It was a decade or so ago and I was in desperate need of help.
In search for tangible and lasting help that brought healing and not more pain I kept trying to find some one or some thing to help. It's all a blur, unless I slow down and think about it, the stream of people I looked to for comfort and ministration and found that their capacity to simply hear my story was so small. The few who could hear some parts of it and remain my friend and not turn me into a dreaded sympathy project were those who themselves were so wounded. We gathered together at all night restaurants and talked till dawn. Just friends talking, no projects allowed.
After a time, and so many hours drinking sweet tea, coffee and cappuccino and splitting hash browns at three in the morning, the gatherings eventually had more reasonable hours and we met at my house for popcorn, hot chocolate with butter schnapps, white zinfandel and talking and board games. We felt like normal people, with friends.
Our conversations were different than any other gathering of friends or church people I'd ever experienced. We spoke of cutting; head banging; sleeping the darkness away; the need to check on a friend who might be suicidal, again; and abuse, all kinds. We spoke of God and Bible verses that helped, but mostly we were the hands of Jesus to each other because everyone else hurt us more.
I'd like to say that I was strong and a source of comfort and was full of empathy for these dear ladies. In reality we were all barely functioning and from day to day what kept us together was the knowledge that we were all we had. We were all in different churches, and each of our churches were actively "helping" in our lives in some way. We needed each other.
Showing posts with label #flashbacks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #flashbacks. Show all posts
Monday, February 23, 2015
Friday, October 10, 2014
Dissociating Doesn't Have to be Forever. Hope is Real.
I have some goals I'd like to meet, and counseling is helping me move towards those goals. One fairly simple sounding one is to be able to read the Bible without being triggered, having flashbacks or dissociating. That's not an easy thing for me. I can't just turn all that off. The ways I have to turn it off are to shut emotions down again and go into robot mode, or to not read the Bible. I can listen to it being read in church, and it's now only occasionally a problem. When I read it or someone reads it to me personally then it becomes some sort of a weapon aimed at me. (And it's not the sword of the spirit bringing much needed conviction to my life.)
My pastor read Matthew 15:10-20 to me in our last counseling session. He thought it would be a comfort to me; instead it was a major trigger and I zoned in and out and had flashbacks too. It was really weird to have so much going on in my mind and yet a kind of nothingness going on at the same time. I was able to listen and hear what he was saying pretty well, considering. I learned something surprising, the flashbacks and all the other involuntary things are not "my" evil coming out of me or a lack of applying Philippians 4:8 properly(think on those things that are lovely etc). It is a result of evil done TO me. Along with this idea that I think has finally sunk in, came the statement. "You can't separate your body from the rest of yourself." That surprised me. For the last two years I have been reconnecting and it has been a rough transition. I have kept separated for most of my life, but I know it's not a good long term solution.
From the time I was young I would go into a dark little room in the corner of my mind until it was safe to come out. Most of the time the room was dark and my "inside me" would just curl up there for a while. Other times it was a whole nother beautiful world where I was the hero and I was surrounded by friends who were family to me. I didn't dare go there too often because I think it made me smile or something that made things worse for the "outside me", and when that happened I would be jolted back to the outside.
As a child, Spock was my favorite Star Trek character. I studied him nightly with every episode. I practiced in the mirror complete facial control of emotions and ultimately successfully suppressed involuntary emotional responses. It took practice, but I was motivated. This complete emotion control was necessary to shorten the beatings and lectures at home. A lecture doesn't sound bad, but it is when you have to stand perfectly still, but not too still, and have the correct facial expression at all times for 45 minutes or more. If my stance shifted or my expression wasn't correct; then I would get another spanking for the "offence" I was being lectured for. If I was lucky I would only get three sets of "spankings". You would think I would be quite good at standing still by the end of 6th grade, since that was one of his favorite tortures. Making me stand facing the wall for the 45 minute recess while he told me what I had to do to get off the wall. Talk about controlling my facial expressions and just leaving my body. I was good at it.
As a teen I added in Data from The Next Generation to my studies. I didn't do so well with modeling Data. He wasn't inconsistent enough, but it was still helpful. For most of my life I've done this thing called dissociation, but didn't know the name for it until this past year. Dissociating is what allowed me to stay sane and function. This separation is my default and that's why I dissociate so easily, it removes me from what causes me pain. It separates "me" from my body and mind. At this point it is no longer a help. It has become a hindrance and gets in the way of comprehending truth, dealing with current events in life, or being able to read the Bible. Increasingly I am gaining hope that I can relearn everything, and be whole again. Someday the old tapes will be completely destroyed and new ones in place. Right now the old ones are being overwritten, but they still leak through pretty strongly. What's awesome is that I recognize when garbage leaks through, or someone else recognizes it; and I am in a place where God is busy writing over the old tapes through friends, sacraments at church, Psalm singing and my pastors.
Psalm 121:1
I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
How God is Becoming More Real to Me
How is God real to me? It sounds like an odd question to ask, maybe *gasp* like something a seeker friendly church would have a little pamphlet on. I can't help any similarities there may be. I must remind myself that God cares and look for those ways He shows himself to be real, not just a far off God who doesn't hear. I can't reconcile my pleading prayers when I was being abused and His apparent deafness, to the teaching that God is present and hears our prayers and loves us. When I try to think through both things I get trapped in a loop of flashbacks. It's not a good place to be.
What I can do is to look for God's hands in my life today and then in the more recent past. If I go back too much farther; I run into problems, big ones like: does God love me, did he love me back then, what about protection, is God really good, how sovereign is he anyway, and God was present but did nothing. The way I can skip over those type of questions is for me to look at all the evil in the world being done to people of all ages and then remind myself that I'm nothing special to rate some divine protection. There are Christians being murdered and abused for their faith. I had it pretty easy in comparison. Somehow I'm not sure this is the way to handle it. It ends up with me viewing God as a distant and uncaring God who is big into consequences. So then I'm back to completely ignoring my own past, beyond the last few years, and disregarding today's present persecution of Christians unless I put it into a "suffering for Christ" category.
Today I look for God's caring in my life. I see it in the meals brought to us by families in our church; in the freshly mowed grass because all of our mowers are broken and my husband now works out of town; in the concern being shown to us as one of our children is suffering from head trauma; texts, phone calls, getting together to just talk; in so many kindnesses big and small; and the fact that I can't disappear from church or blend into the background because I have become a part of this body. All this and so much more are evidences to me that God cares. I see it through the tangible touch and actions of Christians who are God's arms around me in difficult times, in times of change and in the mundane of everyday life.
Another aspect of God that I see is that of Him working in me to change in a myriad of ways. Something is said repeatedly over a long period of time in many different ways and places until one day I hear it again but now it is accompanied by that uneasy feeling of guilt. It's a different sort of guilt than the one that goes along with being abused. It's one that causes you to realize this is talking about me and this is my sin. To avoid dealing with this sin guilt is not a good thing. Slowly my eyes and ears are being opened. I'm sure this is God at work showing me what needs to be confessed and repented of. Easier said than done, though.
God is becoming more real to me through His church, specifically and mainly the church I'm a member of. I'm thankful for mp3 players, blogs, facebook posts, email, texting, and twitter. All this tech provides more ways for me to hear again what God is trying to tell me. It doesn't sink in the first time around I hear it in a worship service or in counseling. God is patient with me and I've seen His gentleness towards me in the last two years. I can be in church now and rarely dissociate anymore, and the triggers are seldom a problem. A lot has changed in the last six months from what my church experiences were two years ago or one year ago. May God continue His work.
What I can do is to look for God's hands in my life today and then in the more recent past. If I go back too much farther; I run into problems, big ones like: does God love me, did he love me back then, what about protection, is God really good, how sovereign is he anyway, and God was present but did nothing. The way I can skip over those type of questions is for me to look at all the evil in the world being done to people of all ages and then remind myself that I'm nothing special to rate some divine protection. There are Christians being murdered and abused for their faith. I had it pretty easy in comparison. Somehow I'm not sure this is the way to handle it. It ends up with me viewing God as a distant and uncaring God who is big into consequences. So then I'm back to completely ignoring my own past, beyond the last few years, and disregarding today's present persecution of Christians unless I put it into a "suffering for Christ" category.
Today I look for God's caring in my life. I see it in the meals brought to us by families in our church; in the freshly mowed grass because all of our mowers are broken and my husband now works out of town; in the concern being shown to us as one of our children is suffering from head trauma; texts, phone calls, getting together to just talk; in so many kindnesses big and small; and the fact that I can't disappear from church or blend into the background because I have become a part of this body. All this and so much more are evidences to me that God cares. I see it through the tangible touch and actions of Christians who are God's arms around me in difficult times, in times of change and in the mundane of everyday life.
Another aspect of God that I see is that of Him working in me to change in a myriad of ways. Something is said repeatedly over a long period of time in many different ways and places until one day I hear it again but now it is accompanied by that uneasy feeling of guilt. It's a different sort of guilt than the one that goes along with being abused. It's one that causes you to realize this is talking about me and this is my sin. To avoid dealing with this sin guilt is not a good thing. Slowly my eyes and ears are being opened. I'm sure this is God at work showing me what needs to be confessed and repented of. Easier said than done, though.
God is becoming more real to me through His church, specifically and mainly the church I'm a member of. I'm thankful for mp3 players, blogs, facebook posts, email, texting, and twitter. All this tech provides more ways for me to hear again what God is trying to tell me. It doesn't sink in the first time around I hear it in a worship service or in counseling. God is patient with me and I've seen His gentleness towards me in the last two years. I can be in church now and rarely dissociate anymore, and the triggers are seldom a problem. A lot has changed in the last six months from what my church experiences were two years ago or one year ago. May God continue His work.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Can I Tell My Story, Uncensored? Should I?
What is the importance of telling your story? I mean really telling it, from beginning to end. The last time I attempted to do that was in the last couple of years and it was only the highlights, if you will, of a life time of smaller hurts and also of ongoing effects of childhood sexual abuse which still affect me today. The statement that counselor made to me was that any one of these events would be enough to cause PTSD in someone. For two or three, one hour sessions I briefly ran down the list without too much detail. From the confident woman I first met, this counselor changed before my eyes into someone who seemed to be afraid to hear the next thing that would come from my mouth. My trauma was causing her pain in some way. I didn't understand how she could feel my pain. All I knew was that she was having serious problems with hearing my bare bones story. I felt bad to be hurting her, so I didn't go back. My story remained untold.
Lately I've been googling, trying to find out if telling it in story form is a good thing, necessary or just a nice sounding way of wallowing in the past. When I think of NOT telling my story as a whole, instead of in disconnected pieces; then a whole host of statements made to me by my abuser start playing in a continuous loop, joined by all the other not-helpful things people("friends", counselors, pastors, police officers and lawyers and toss in one ignorant doctor) have said to me over the years. I often feel as disconnected as the way in which I've told my story to my pastor/counselor. In the beginning he told me I didn't have to tell him everything about the actual abuse, so I didn't. Along the way I disclosed small snapshots of what happened when I was abused. I tested him at every turn, waiting for the words, "I can't help you. You need to find another counselor." Instead he keeps on telling me that he's in it for the long haul. I believe him now.
In spite of a non linear telling of events and staying focused, more on the effects of the abuse in my life today than a upfront factual retelling of the abuse, my pastor/counselor has the basic gist of what happened. There is a bit of a problem with adequately addressing guilt and shame, since I've only barely brushed on those immensely shaming aspects of the abuse, in all the many hours of counseling over the last 18 months. I don't know how to go there, or if I should go there. It's pretty explicit because that's part of the story, and to sanitize what happened so its a little more palatable seems like its minimizing what really happened. I lived through it. No one sanitized it for me. No one dimmed the horror by skipping what I couldn't handle. Not one person has heard it all. In order to cushion the blows my words have become to my hearer, I always skip around as I speak of the sexual abuse in counseling. Past counselors have either been deeply affected to the point that they can't help me or have done other odd things that moved the focus from my abuser like: attempting to convince me it was a different person who abused me; or that my "real" problem was something besides the sexual abuse. To a point, it has been a necessary cushioning of it for me too, yet I'm also acutely aware of my edits and deliberate minimizing of the abuse in order to talk about it and not harm or scare off another counselor. There are times I don't say things because I'm sitting there contemplating whether or not bringing up certain aspects of events would be too explicit; and therefore would bring down some sort of rebuke for a gratuitous recounting of things about the abuse or its long term effects that didn't need to be said.
This fear of rejection runs in me so strongly that I can't think reasonably about the chances of such a rebuke occurring. Technically, rejection of me as a person, and not listening to the details of my story are not the same thing. In my mind I know this, but the part of me which fear controls can't make that distinction. Crawling under a rock and face hiding shame dominates my thinking and instinctive self protective behaviour. I would contaminate another person by going into the shame filled details. Why wouldn't anyone not look at me with disgust if they knew everything? It's not like I want to put out all the details, or even any of them, to everyone who knows me. I just want one person on earth to know everything and not turn away from me. That hasn't happened yet. No one yet knows everything. I don't blame them for not being able to handle hearing it, but still, I had to live it. Isn't there anyone who can listen to me say everything; from the sound of the stairs, the creaking open of the door, the smell of concrete, the taste of fear and helplessness, to the things I did to provoke him so he would just get it over with? Or is it just too much to put on someone else? When it's all put together it is horrendous and explicit in all the details of what he did to me and what I did, felt, saw, and thought at the time. Is is wrong for me to tell my story, uncensored?
Lately I've been googling, trying to find out if telling it in story form is a good thing, necessary or just a nice sounding way of wallowing in the past. When I think of NOT telling my story as a whole, instead of in disconnected pieces; then a whole host of statements made to me by my abuser start playing in a continuous loop, joined by all the other not-helpful things people("friends", counselors, pastors, police officers and lawyers and toss in one ignorant doctor) have said to me over the years. I often feel as disconnected as the way in which I've told my story to my pastor/counselor. In the beginning he told me I didn't have to tell him everything about the actual abuse, so I didn't. Along the way I disclosed small snapshots of what happened when I was abused. I tested him at every turn, waiting for the words, "I can't help you. You need to find another counselor." Instead he keeps on telling me that he's in it for the long haul. I believe him now.
In spite of a non linear telling of events and staying focused, more on the effects of the abuse in my life today than a upfront factual retelling of the abuse, my pastor/counselor has the basic gist of what happened. There is a bit of a problem with adequately addressing guilt and shame, since I've only barely brushed on those immensely shaming aspects of the abuse, in all the many hours of counseling over the last 18 months. I don't know how to go there, or if I should go there. It's pretty explicit because that's part of the story, and to sanitize what happened so its a little more palatable seems like its minimizing what really happened. I lived through it. No one sanitized it for me. No one dimmed the horror by skipping what I couldn't handle. Not one person has heard it all. In order to cushion the blows my words have become to my hearer, I always skip around as I speak of the sexual abuse in counseling. Past counselors have either been deeply affected to the point that they can't help me or have done other odd things that moved the focus from my abuser like: attempting to convince me it was a different person who abused me; or that my "real" problem was something besides the sexual abuse. To a point, it has been a necessary cushioning of it for me too, yet I'm also acutely aware of my edits and deliberate minimizing of the abuse in order to talk about it and not harm or scare off another counselor. There are times I don't say things because I'm sitting there contemplating whether or not bringing up certain aspects of events would be too explicit; and therefore would bring down some sort of rebuke for a gratuitous recounting of things about the abuse or its long term effects that didn't need to be said.
This fear of rejection runs in me so strongly that I can't think reasonably about the chances of such a rebuke occurring. Technically, rejection of me as a person, and not listening to the details of my story are not the same thing. In my mind I know this, but the part of me which fear controls can't make that distinction. Crawling under a rock and face hiding shame dominates my thinking and instinctive self protective behaviour. I would contaminate another person by going into the shame filled details. Why wouldn't anyone not look at me with disgust if they knew everything? It's not like I want to put out all the details, or even any of them, to everyone who knows me. I just want one person on earth to know everything and not turn away from me. That hasn't happened yet. No one yet knows everything. I don't blame them for not being able to handle hearing it, but still, I had to live it. Isn't there anyone who can listen to me say everything; from the sound of the stairs, the creaking open of the door, the smell of concrete, the taste of fear and helplessness, to the things I did to provoke him so he would just get it over with? Or is it just too much to put on someone else? When it's all put together it is horrendous and explicit in all the details of what he did to me and what I did, felt, saw, and thought at the time. Is is wrong for me to tell my story, uncensored?
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Mondays Irritating Question
Sundays question is, "How are you doing?" For most people I give some version of normal like: "Fine", "Doing all right.", "Been busy" or list some activity we did or might think about doing. Then along comes Monday and the question changes to, "So, how was your weekend?" Really? What is with the small talk? I hate small talk. I don't even like the phrase "small talk". Why does the fact that I am trapped in a chiropractors office mean that I have any desire to have the same conversation starter that I don't want to start, started over and over. This chiropractor has several therapies going on in series so I endured this question more than normal in a short span of time. By the time I was at the massage therapists station I was so done dancing around the question of my weekend.
We somehow ended up having a real conversation. I steered it by commenting on why my neck and shoulders were so tense and knotted up. I simply said I've been really stressed for the last couple of weeks. In turn she asked about why or what has been the stress. We ended up with a genuine conversation about Bob Jones University and the GRACE investigation and also another Christian college she was much more familiar with. I think she was a bit more free than she planned on being and seemed worried that I would be offended; and stressed that I did ask and it was only her opinion. Hopefully I put her at ease on that point, but I doubt it. I did enjoy a real conversation not based on polite small talk. I didn't say much; it only took a decent comment on my part and she was off and running. After the massage station I only had to endure one more person asking me about my weekend. :D
In case you were wondering, but certainly wouldn't dare to ask me now; my weekend was a mixed bag. Friday was a major trigger type day. I thought I could read a Psalm without ill effects. NOPE, crash and burn. Friday night was a big church get together at somebodies house. That was good, but still triggering and I stayed more on the outer edges of things. I love a good party and the wine was great and quite helpful. Saturday we had a picnic and walked around downtown and enjoyed the day. We hit all the little shops that we never stop in, and I found two Louis L'Amour books I haven't read yet. Sunday at church was mildly difficult on my scale. I was able to stay here even when triggered, and only had a few flashbacks. In the afternoon I went out for dessert with a friend for my birthday, and I enjoyed it. So that was my weekend.
Writing it out doesn't sound so bad, but when I was asked about my weekend the only things I could remember were the intense triggers on Friday because I read a Psalm and the triggers and flashbacks on Sunday that stayed in the manageable range. I only needed to use a handful of methods to keep me here and didn't have to use them the whole time. I wish my first thoughts were of the nice picnic and the shops and going out with my friend. I didn't think of any of those things the whole time I was at the chiropractors office being asked constantly about my weekend. I don't know why
We somehow ended up having a real conversation. I steered it by commenting on why my neck and shoulders were so tense and knotted up. I simply said I've been really stressed for the last couple of weeks. In turn she asked about why or what has been the stress. We ended up with a genuine conversation about Bob Jones University and the GRACE investigation and also another Christian college she was much more familiar with. I think she was a bit more free than she planned on being and seemed worried that I would be offended; and stressed that I did ask and it was only her opinion. Hopefully I put her at ease on that point, but I doubt it. I did enjoy a real conversation not based on polite small talk. I didn't say much; it only took a decent comment on my part and she was off and running. After the massage station I only had to endure one more person asking me about my weekend. :D
In case you were wondering, but certainly wouldn't dare to ask me now; my weekend was a mixed bag. Friday was a major trigger type day. I thought I could read a Psalm without ill effects. NOPE, crash and burn. Friday night was a big church get together at somebodies house. That was good, but still triggering and I stayed more on the outer edges of things. I love a good party and the wine was great and quite helpful. Saturday we had a picnic and walked around downtown and enjoyed the day. We hit all the little shops that we never stop in, and I found two Louis L'Amour books I haven't read yet. Sunday at church was mildly difficult on my scale. I was able to stay here even when triggered, and only had a few flashbacks. In the afternoon I went out for dessert with a friend for my birthday, and I enjoyed it. So that was my weekend.
Writing it out doesn't sound so bad, but when I was asked about my weekend the only things I could remember were the intense triggers on Friday because I read a Psalm and the triggers and flashbacks on Sunday that stayed in the manageable range. I only needed to use a handful of methods to keep me here and didn't have to use them the whole time. I wish my first thoughts were of the nice picnic and the shops and going out with my friend. I didn't think of any of those things the whole time I was at the chiropractors office being asked constantly about my weekend. I don't know why
Monday, February 24, 2014
How Bob Jones University's Firing of GRACE Has Affected Me as a Survivor and Interviewee
Up until now I have never mentioned where I went to college or anything about that time in my life. That's an impossible task to cover adequately in one post, but I do want to in a brief way discuss my infamous alma mater, Bob Jones University. I grew up in a "Bob Jones" church, although in the early days it was more a Gothard church and I remember loading up in buses at church and riding downtown to the Basic Youth Conflicts meeting. Brother Roloff was a regular preacher at our church, but I digress. My college choices were Bob Jones University or Your on Your Own- Good Luck U. The whole concept of scholarships and the evil government student loans was abhorred. So off I went to Greenville, South Carolina and the Mecca of the Fundamentalist world, Bob Jones University. I wasn't unhappy about it. I had visited there a few times and knew how to dress like the college girls and not look like a high schooler. I was quite pleased when my clothing was looked over by a girl that used to be in my youth group, but was now that most envied of positions, a GA(graduate assistant). I thought I was hot stuff, with connections in the right places and coming from a well known and respected church and Christian school. MY pastor was asked to speak at Bob Jones and so on. I was such a self righteous, proud little brat, but I was never a Boje(that's BJ slang for tattletale). My freshman year was an odd mix. My APC(assistant prayer captain) was a 5th year senior who only had one semester left. She introduced me to the wild crowd and told them I was cool and wouldn't get a conscience. It's funny how she had me pegged. I was very good at keeping quiet and self preservation. I never did turn anyone in for anything my whole time at Bob Jones University, even when undergoing grilling by the Dean of Women (I always get Baker and Barker mixed up) or the Dean of Students, Mr. Berg.
One of my teachers my freshman year was similar in mannerisms and size as my teacher in elementary that molested and raped me during that whole school year. I didn't have the right words for what was happening to me. I genuinely liked Mr. Berg and went to him for help. I described what was happening and one of the things I was told, was to think on those things that are lovely and to meditate on Philipians 4:8. I tried so hard but things just got worse. I have words now for what was happening: triggers, flashbacks, PTSD and eventually dissociation. I was severely depressed and became suicidal. I thought I was going crazy. I went to the wrong classes for an extended period of time until the teacher pointed out that I wasn't actually IN that class. I would wander around and be vaguely aware that I was supposed to be somewhere. After sessions with Mr. Berg I would walk out of the administration building and "come to" in some out of the way back campus location.
I'm barely touching on my experience with counseling while at Bob Jones, but it was a part of every year of my time there. I interviewed with G.R.A.C.E. last year and have been paying a heavy toll for it. I finally got to a point of relative peace in the last few months. The flashbacks to the original abuse in elementary had become infrequent, I could sing in church again and talking with a Baptist didn't throw me into panic. I still couldn't read the Bible without being triggered, but I could listen to someone else read it, as long as it wasn't the King James version. It was nice to wake up without that instant feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I made it past a major depression and time of being suicidal. PTSD symptoms were basically gone for a while. I was still in counseling with my pastor, but it had lost the edge of desperation that began our counseling relationship soon after I filled out the original GRACE questionnaire and then went into full blown longlasting flashbacks. Believe me, that was an interesting call!
But now, BJU has fired GRACE and it's not looking like the report will ever see the light of day, if BJU can get away with it. I've seen various blogs and comments mention how this decision to fire GRACE re-traumatizes victims, but I haven't seen anyone specifically saying how it does. I'm going to tell you how it affects me, and I hope that others will tell in the comments, or elsewhere, how BJU's actions in firing GRACE is affecting them.
1. My hands are sweating like a faucet, and it makes the keyboard slippery to type on.
2. Betrayed
3. Headaches and eye twitches have returned
4. Nightmares are starting back up
5. I am being more easily triggered again
6. Flashbacks are returning
7. Anxiety (and DON'T tell me to be anxious for nothing!)
8. General nervousness
9. Difficulty staying in the present while singing in church (fighting to not dissociate too badly)
10. Nausea
11. Difficulty sleeping(I haven't slept well for a couple of weeks now and I was up the whole night this past Saturday.)
12. Loss of appetite (I could stand to lose a bunch of weight, so that's almost ok with me)
13. I know I'm depressed, although I can't say to what degree, but not currently suicidal.
14. I am physically tense all over to the point of pain
15. You really don't want to know about the connection all this has with my bowels ;)
16. Church is again full of triggers for me and has been increasing each week since GRACE was fired
17. I have been irritable and hard to live with(I'm working on it!)
18. Loss of hope(but then I got really ticked and that helps because I am doing what I can)
19. Crying and not able to control emotions well, so I use anger to keep the tears in check
20. Really and truly beginning to grasp the depth and beauty of the imprecatory Psalms and praying in a very specific way towards Bob Jones University---Lord, hear my prayer.
One of my teachers my freshman year was similar in mannerisms and size as my teacher in elementary that molested and raped me during that whole school year. I didn't have the right words for what was happening to me. I genuinely liked Mr. Berg and went to him for help. I described what was happening and one of the things I was told, was to think on those things that are lovely and to meditate on Philipians 4:8. I tried so hard but things just got worse. I have words now for what was happening: triggers, flashbacks, PTSD and eventually dissociation. I was severely depressed and became suicidal. I thought I was going crazy. I went to the wrong classes for an extended period of time until the teacher pointed out that I wasn't actually IN that class. I would wander around and be vaguely aware that I was supposed to be somewhere. After sessions with Mr. Berg I would walk out of the administration building and "come to" in some out of the way back campus location.
I'm barely touching on my experience with counseling while at Bob Jones, but it was a part of every year of my time there. I interviewed with G.R.A.C.E. last year and have been paying a heavy toll for it. I finally got to a point of relative peace in the last few months. The flashbacks to the original abuse in elementary had become infrequent, I could sing in church again and talking with a Baptist didn't throw me into panic. I still couldn't read the Bible without being triggered, but I could listen to someone else read it, as long as it wasn't the King James version. It was nice to wake up without that instant feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I made it past a major depression and time of being suicidal. PTSD symptoms were basically gone for a while. I was still in counseling with my pastor, but it had lost the edge of desperation that began our counseling relationship soon after I filled out the original GRACE questionnaire and then went into full blown longlasting flashbacks. Believe me, that was an interesting call!
But now, BJU has fired GRACE and it's not looking like the report will ever see the light of day, if BJU can get away with it. I've seen various blogs and comments mention how this decision to fire GRACE re-traumatizes victims, but I haven't seen anyone specifically saying how it does. I'm going to tell you how it affects me, and I hope that others will tell in the comments, or elsewhere, how BJU's actions in firing GRACE is affecting them.
1. My hands are sweating like a faucet, and it makes the keyboard slippery to type on.
2. Betrayed
3. Headaches and eye twitches have returned
4. Nightmares are starting back up
5. I am being more easily triggered again
6. Flashbacks are returning
7. Anxiety (and DON'T tell me to be anxious for nothing!)
8. General nervousness
9. Difficulty staying in the present while singing in church (fighting to not dissociate too badly)
10. Nausea
11. Difficulty sleeping(I haven't slept well for a couple of weeks now and I was up the whole night this past Saturday.)
12. Loss of appetite (I could stand to lose a bunch of weight, so that's almost ok with me)
13. I know I'm depressed, although I can't say to what degree, but not currently suicidal.
14. I am physically tense all over to the point of pain
15. You really don't want to know about the connection all this has with my bowels ;)
16. Church is again full of triggers for me and has been increasing each week since GRACE was fired
17. I have been irritable and hard to live with(I'm working on it!)
18. Loss of hope(but then I got really ticked and that helps because I am doing what I can)
19. Crying and not able to control emotions well, so I use anger to keep the tears in check
20. Really and truly beginning to grasp the depth and beauty of the imprecatory Psalms and praying in a very specific way towards Bob Jones University---Lord, hear my prayer.
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