Easter Sunday... It's supposed to be a day of hope remembering Christ's resurrection. In some ways I am participating in Easter, but I feel more like an outside observer this time. Not belonging, but this time of my own choosing. I made sure everything ran smoothly this morning and the whole family made it to the sunrise service on time and even a little early and then on to the breakfast at church and then the worship service. Dinner is in the oven the potatoes are cooking and the gravy is standing by ready to be made at the last minute. The boys are all down and actually sleeping for naptime. It's been a perfect day thus far. After naps then everyone will get their Easter baskets and then we will have our Easter dinner.
Sounds great and it is except... I dissociated through most of the service which made me rather fuzzy headed afterwards. Someone asked me if I was sick because it seemed I was walking like I didn't feel well and seemed off. I thought I was hiding it well. Evidently not. I am out of practice in hiding how I feel. People are used to seeing me fully engaged and not in shut down mode. She also kept asking and guessing what was wrong until I told her the short version of the story, which was the PTSD is back and I thought I was over it because everything was so different this time. I also told her about the two local counselors who couldn't handle my "multiple traumas" and one of them has been counseling for 30 years and has PTSD with trauma as a specialty. Somewhere in the conversation I said a few times, "I'm done." She asked what I was done with. I couldn't give her a good answer. I didn't want to. Church? was one of her guesses. I wasn't sure how to answer that question since that is something I've been thinking about. She and another lady who came back into the conversation a bit later both hugged me and said they would pray for me and some other comforting type statements.
Another conversation in the parking lot with someone else, more hugs and encouragement to not blame myself or carry guilt for considering or deciding to not adopt the boys. The only people who know at this point in my face to face life are the pastors and elders at church, and at least one of their wives.
So, it's a perfect Easter Sunday. We have the pictures to prove it. I wish I didn't have a different narrative running underneath it all. The one that says, "This is the one and only Easter you'll have with these boys. The last holiday. They will leave with their Easter outfit, but maybe will never want to wear it again because of the association of the last happy holiday with us. Everyone sees how well they are doing and the improvement in behavior. No one will understand why I can't do the mom thing, why I can't pull it together, why I have an inability to parent them all, why all of a sudden I can't handle the improved version of these boys or what my problem really is. God is sovereign but why so much pain? Am I supposed to tough it out and somehow stop leaning on my older children for help? The more times a day goes well and I survive it, the more I doubt myself."
Then again, with the almost constant dissociation during church, dizziness, blurry vision and the lingering headache and evidently odd way of walking around afterwards, can that be called a successful day? I am surviving it, but that's it. And this day is going so well compared to others! I just want to sleep it off, but if I dare go to sleep I will easily be out for the next 4-5 hours which would ruin the day for everyone else. So I inflict upon a few people another rambling blog post chronicling my journey through life.
Showing posts with label counseling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label counseling. Show all posts
Sunday, April 5, 2015
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?
Saturday, July 6, 2013
My Lousy Balancing Act...
I've been trying out, in great seriousness and effort, another go round of counseling with a pastor and not just some pastor that I drive to go see that doesn't see me on Sunday or other times, but my pastor, the one who is charged with shepherding the sheep in his flock, of which I am one. I'm not sure how well it's going. Rather, I'm not so sure how well I am doing. I don't know how to balance honesty, openness, anger and being nice. I don't think I can be fully honest and nice at the same time. I can be honest in a limited scope and be nice which is how you act with everyone else when you know they have neither the time, nor inclination to hear your deepest darkest. And that's ok, that's life. I sure don't want everyone I know to know all about me. Hence the somewhat anonymous blog. hehe But as far as maintaining civility and avoiding the appearance of anger while being fully honest and open, well I've never done that before. Never is a strong word, but it might just fit this time.
I keep coming back to the difficulty I have in balancing emotions and behavior. Being able to handle church, preaching, Bible reading, singing and physical touch without the necessity of retreating physically and/or emotionally in order to maintain a facade of normalcy is where I would like to be some day. I'm tired of the facade. When I let up and am fully, or nearly fully, open and honest then I am always the loser. When I restrain myself and limit what I say or try to act like all is okay when I am falling apart on the inside; then I still lose because I think people notice and pull away. I'm not sure if it's because they are bothered that I don't trust them enough to be real with them or if they are retreating to avoid any possibility of getting too close to my screwed up self.
I've been scarily honest in some emails with my pastor after counseling times, and didn't try to hide my anger. Is that keeping it real or is it being a jerk? Having to ask such a question reflects my lousy balancing skills. Anyway, this has been a hell of a week. DH and I had a medium sized fight last Sunday night, and of course he brought it up in counseling on Monday afternoon. I wasn't nice. I was sarcastic, rude, angry, hurt and scared, but didn't show I was hurt and scared, just used all the ugly ways of protecting myself from being known. That was a dud of a counseling session, I was actually asked to leave so the pastor could talk to just my DH. It was just supposed to be for 10 minutes and then I thought I was coming back in, but that actually ended the session.
I've been in a funk, depressed, planning how to win the war with my husband, ended up being really sorry for some emails I sent and I've cried a lot this week. And to top it off, tonight I was quite triggered by reading I John in preparation for the upcoming Sunday school series. And I didn't even read it, I listened to it on my iphone from a link for this weeks church news. Like I said, this has been a rough week. No let up.
I keep coming back to the difficulty I have in balancing emotions and behavior. Being able to handle church, preaching, Bible reading, singing and physical touch without the necessity of retreating physically and/or emotionally in order to maintain a facade of normalcy is where I would like to be some day. I'm tired of the facade. When I let up and am fully, or nearly fully, open and honest then I am always the loser. When I restrain myself and limit what I say or try to act like all is okay when I am falling apart on the inside; then I still lose because I think people notice and pull away. I'm not sure if it's because they are bothered that I don't trust them enough to be real with them or if they are retreating to avoid any possibility of getting too close to my screwed up self.
I've been scarily honest in some emails with my pastor after counseling times, and didn't try to hide my anger. Is that keeping it real or is it being a jerk? Having to ask such a question reflects my lousy balancing skills. Anyway, this has been a hell of a week. DH and I had a medium sized fight last Sunday night, and of course he brought it up in counseling on Monday afternoon. I wasn't nice. I was sarcastic, rude, angry, hurt and scared, but didn't show I was hurt and scared, just used all the ugly ways of protecting myself from being known. That was a dud of a counseling session, I was actually asked to leave so the pastor could talk to just my DH. It was just supposed to be for 10 minutes and then I thought I was coming back in, but that actually ended the session.
I've been in a funk, depressed, planning how to win the war with my husband, ended up being really sorry for some emails I sent and I've cried a lot this week. And to top it off, tonight I was quite triggered by reading I John in preparation for the upcoming Sunday school series. And I didn't even read it, I listened to it on my iphone from a link for this weeks church news. Like I said, this has been a rough week. No let up.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Nouthetic Counseling is Bunk!
It finally makes sense why most of the "help" I have received has only caused more pain and feelings of hopelessness.
http://robinphillips.blogspot.com/2011/10/problems-with-jay-adams-and-nouthetic.html
Don't question God. Asking why shows you're doubting God's goodness. If you don't forgive; then God won't forgive you. Christ died on the cross for your sins, the least you can do is to forgive your perpetrator. (Is that word supposed to sound better than abuser or rapist?) At least it's better than Wood and Mazak's "offender".
http://robinphillips.blogspot.com/2011/10/problems-with-jay-adams-and-nouthetic.html
Don't question God. Asking why shows you're doubting God's goodness. If you don't forgive; then God won't forgive you. Christ died on the cross for your sins, the least you can do is to forgive your perpetrator. (Is that word supposed to sound better than abuser or rapist?) At least it's better than Wood and Mazak's "offender".
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Not doing good today
I'm not doing so good. The last counseling session put words to things that I don't like to think about. I'm just on the edge of needing to sit with a bucket. I've barely got out of bed today. I got up to have breakfast with my girls at 11:30. They made biscuits and heated up yesterday's gravy. It was good southern food.
I'm supposed to be making a big batch of pumpkin muffins for tomorrow night. A potential pastor is coming to town with his family to meet with us and another family to see about starting a church. I just want to go somewhere, like deep under the covers, and not come out until they are gone. I am feeling so sick.
I'm so tired from trying to be normal for everyone around me...
I usually pull it off or have a good excuse to explain why I seem a bit off. When I can't take it anymore, then I try counseling. It makes it worse, yet I die by little bits when I just push it down and shove it back into boxes. I can't keep doing what I've been doing, but this counseling is scraping off the top layer as it oozes out of my boxes and looks at it and the looking hurts.
It hurts so much that I don't dare feel anything or think about it as me. If I did then I think I would cry...and not stop. It would be the scary crying, the kind that doesn't even care who sees or hears when I'm crying, but beforehand is so scared of the idea of anyone seeing. I don't know what the word is for that kind of crying. I just know that I melt and can only hold onto one thought.
So this is what working through trauma is like. I learned a new word last Thursday or at least had it directed towards me. I have been edgy, jumpy and nauseated ever since. I also read Christa Brown's book, This Little Light, http://christabrown.wordpress.com/my-book/ yesterday and I didn't have enough sense to put it down until I finished it. I knew it was triggering for me, but I couldn't stop reading it anyway. No one to blame but myself.
I'm supposed to be making a big batch of pumpkin muffins for tomorrow night. A potential pastor is coming to town with his family to meet with us and another family to see about starting a church. I just want to go somewhere, like deep under the covers, and not come out until they are gone. I am feeling so sick.
I'm so tired from trying to be normal for everyone around me...
I usually pull it off or have a good excuse to explain why I seem a bit off. When I can't take it anymore, then I try counseling. It makes it worse, yet I die by little bits when I just push it down and shove it back into boxes. I can't keep doing what I've been doing, but this counseling is scraping off the top layer as it oozes out of my boxes and looks at it and the looking hurts.
It hurts so much that I don't dare feel anything or think about it as me. If I did then I think I would cry...and not stop. It would be the scary crying, the kind that doesn't even care who sees or hears when I'm crying, but beforehand is so scared of the idea of anyone seeing. I don't know what the word is for that kind of crying. I just know that I melt and can only hold onto one thought.
So this is what working through trauma is like. I learned a new word last Thursday or at least had it directed towards me. I have been edgy, jumpy and nauseated ever since. I also read Christa Brown's book, This Little Light, http://christabrown.wordpress.com/my-book/ yesterday and I didn't have enough sense to put it down until I finished it. I knew it was triggering for me, but I couldn't stop reading it anyway. No one to blame but myself.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Trying to start up counseling again
I haven't written anything since April...anywhere, or at least I don't remember doing so. I had a good time in Florida, I think. Underneath all the smiles and laughter were other things. I'm not sure which is real. Can both be real at the same time?
I'm supposed to be blogging through Bold Love. I haven't touched it in months. It was too much for me. I guess a self help sort of book that I'm going to be brutally honest with myself as I read it is going to require someone outside of myself to get me to actually do it. Evidently I don't have much self-government when it comes to hard things, I keep running.
Off and on since April I have thought about counseling and some of the stuff I talked about with Dr. A. I stopped seeing her because of that stupid letter she wanted me to write. I couldn't filter out what was pyscho bull and what was valid. I just shoved everything back in boxes until my child was ok and we had basically recovered from the last major rejection of us as a family and me as a person by our then newest friends back in July 2008. That still hurts but it's scabbed over nicely. We have had two major rejections of us since we moved here. I don't handle rejection well. It brings up all kinds of gut reactions and I hate it.
The last few months I keep thinking about going to see Dr C. He's Christian, even if he is baptist. Hopefully he can help, he reminds me of a former counselor I really liked. As long as there is a project or problem to solve then I stay busy and I don't think about things. Right now we are trying to get accepted by a denomination and then get a pastor sent to us. It's really stirring up fear of rejection and I don't like it. And that's on top of things starting to ooze out of my boxes again.
I called tonight and left a voice message for Dr C. I called after hours on purpose. I couldn't talk for real today, but this was a good in between step. If he calls me back then I'll see if he will see me or not. He is not with the counseling group he was with. I can't find him listed anywhere but as a pastor at a SBC church. He may not do any counseling outside his church. I talked to him once already about a year or so ago. He probably won't remember me, but I still can't do the "let's find a counselor" thing. Starting from scratch and having to say things is torture. I can disconnect and be fairly dispassionate about it, yet at some point and at some level I know I'm talking about things I'd rather die than go through again. Shame kicks in and bout drowns me in it's suffocating weight. It's just a matter of when. It could be when I make eye contact, or when I walk out the door, or when I get into my car to leave or sometimes it really gets bad when I come back the next time and have to look at their face before I have the chance to settle in and not look at them; it doesn't really matter because it always comes and I have to remember to breathe and force myself to not care and yet still be able to talk. It's really hard.
I'm supposed to be blogging through Bold Love. I haven't touched it in months. It was too much for me. I guess a self help sort of book that I'm going to be brutally honest with myself as I read it is going to require someone outside of myself to get me to actually do it. Evidently I don't have much self-government when it comes to hard things, I keep running.
Off and on since April I have thought about counseling and some of the stuff I talked about with Dr. A. I stopped seeing her because of that stupid letter she wanted me to write. I couldn't filter out what was pyscho bull and what was valid. I just shoved everything back in boxes until my child was ok and we had basically recovered from the last major rejection of us as a family and me as a person by our then newest friends back in July 2008. That still hurts but it's scabbed over nicely. We have had two major rejections of us since we moved here. I don't handle rejection well. It brings up all kinds of gut reactions and I hate it.
The last few months I keep thinking about going to see Dr C. He's Christian, even if he is baptist. Hopefully he can help, he reminds me of a former counselor I really liked. As long as there is a project or problem to solve then I stay busy and I don't think about things. Right now we are trying to get accepted by a denomination and then get a pastor sent to us. It's really stirring up fear of rejection and I don't like it. And that's on top of things starting to ooze out of my boxes again.
I called tonight and left a voice message for Dr C. I called after hours on purpose. I couldn't talk for real today, but this was a good in between step. If he calls me back then I'll see if he will see me or not. He is not with the counseling group he was with. I can't find him listed anywhere but as a pastor at a SBC church. He may not do any counseling outside his church. I talked to him once already about a year or so ago. He probably won't remember me, but I still can't do the "let's find a counselor" thing. Starting from scratch and having to say things is torture. I can disconnect and be fairly dispassionate about it, yet at some point and at some level I know I'm talking about things I'd rather die than go through again. Shame kicks in and bout drowns me in it's suffocating weight. It's just a matter of when. It could be when I make eye contact, or when I walk out the door, or when I get into my car to leave or sometimes it really gets bad when I come back the next time and have to look at their face before I have the chance to settle in and not look at them; it doesn't really matter because it always comes and I have to remember to breathe and force myself to not care and yet still be able to talk. It's really hard.
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