The Light at the End of the Tunnel is NOT an Exit

Events occur that most wouldn't understand how that seemingly unrelated thing would have any effect on me.  It's complicated to explain and when pushed to do so, even though it's also said that I don't have to explain, I feel compelled to explain if it's someone that I think I might be able to trust in some smallish way.  So I explain, a little.  A testing of the waters. A testing of the light.  It could be another instance of setting myself up to be devoured by following the light of apparent friendship with the bait of a much-needed hug.  I just might have some trust issues, but not without cause. ;)



I get entranced by the "light at the end of the tunnel" and continue moving towards the light, all the while I'm actually moving deeper into darkness.  I discover I'm not in a tunnel but rather my whole existence is surrounded by darkness, punctuated by flashes of light whereby I barely escape alive, but certainly not unscathed.  The light moves where ever it needs to in order so that even when I move towards the light I descend farther into darkness.  I retreat from it and too late realize it now is between me and the true light.  No matter what I do nothing makes a difference for long.

For an all too brief period of time I moved out of the darkness I have been surrounded by for most of my life.  I believed I had escaped the darkness.  For a time I was free of it, but a vortex from the depths pulls me back.  I see a light above me but its not the light of freedom, its the light of that ever present trap moving closer to me as I sink deeper into the darkness I'm well accustomed to.  Between me and the true light of the freedom I have tasted is the light of the false hope of healing from PTSD and all that goes with it.  The darkness and coldness of a life numbed to emotions is safer.  And today all I want is to be safe and for this anguish to be over.

An Odd Collection of Friends

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.

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?

S is for Suicidal in September

Between October and now almost to the end of February I have had no postings.  Well in September I had a several days run of extreme depression.  I couldn't sleep for well over 60 hours.  I was, to put it quite bluntly, extremely suicidal.  I went as far as making a plan and taking steps to ensure I would be able to carry it out.  Once everything was in place I was so happy and lighthearted, and just felt such relief as though a great burden had been lifted.  I hadn't felt so good and free since high school, which was also the last time I actually tried to kill myself.  I drove around town for a little while reveling in how relaxed and happy I felt.  I wondered if this was how normal people felt sometimes.  I didn't want to wait for a better time.  NOW was feeling so wonderful, I was ready to be done with hurting; with curling up trying to hang on and riding the next wave of depression so deep that it hurt to just, be.  I drove around thinking about things and feeling good and truly alive.
Eventually I thought about my children and especially what my little guy had just recently started saying to me when I came home, "I missed you, Mommy."  He was so little, how could he voice that?  I heard his little voice in my mind and I couldn't die, but I wanted to so badly.  The pain was so intense for so long I couldn't bear to give up this relief and joy I felt.  I found myself driving to someone I trusted and giving them a note and a bottle of sleeping pills for them to keep.  I couldn't throw them out the window or drop them in the trash and once at their house I resisted their efforts to dispose of the pills.  I think I needed to feel I still had an out.  I'm not sure, it's strange to think it out loud like this.  For me depression is like the ebb and flow of the tides.  It always returns.  Sometimes I get hit with a tsunami, same waves, but totally out of control.

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.

Still Paying the Price

It's been almost three years since I've posted on this blog.  I haven't forgotten anything, but I just couldn't write about things.  Trying to figure out how to make this blog do what I orignally intended for it to do is complicated.  I'm too much of a chicken to just put it all out there.  I've lost too many friends in too many places and quite a few of those losses were because of my past abuse.

We are once again in a new state, a new church and trying to see where we fit, or if we do fit.  As long as I manage to blend, I know we'll be okay.  But what about the dark times?  They always return and then I really don't want to be alone.  I want comfort, but that's the point where I am rejected or become someones project.  Is there a balance?  Does anyone besides me know how to be a friend to someone who is hurting without turning them into a project?

That sounds a bit arrogant, but I haven't seen people who have been able to be a friend to those who have been sexually abused without turning them into a project or outright rejecting them.  I don't want to be hurt like that again.  The abuse was a long time ago, but I'm still paying the price.  I'm the one with the memories that intrude at the wrong times.  (I'd like to know when the right time is and then maybe I can train my brain and body to save it for times I can handle it and am expecting it.)  I'm the one with the shaking and sweating hands.  I'm the one who works really hard to take hugs and pats from people at church, especially men, without panicing and having to hide in the bathroom.  I'm the one with the flashbacks.  I'm the one who thinks about what happened to me when sermons or songs touch on tragedy or God's love and care.  When forgiveness is discussed I am back in the hallway trying to know that I'm not really there again.  When someone keeps asking how can they pray for me I am terrified.  This is a person who is becoming a friend and all I can think of is how much it will hurt when they don't talk to me anymore and avoid me at church because I fully and truthfully told them how they can pray for me.  I want to say.  "Pray that the darkness doesn't get too dark, pray that I can stop being afraid, pray that I can be myself without losing friends or becoming a project, pray that the baptist tapes will be banished, pray that PTSD won't keep returning, pray that he will be caught and punished, pray for justice, pray for complete healing and hope that it is possible, pray that the memories won't come unbidden especially when I'm with my husband or in church, pray that the thoughts of suicide will never return, pray for me to be able to love God fully."
I don't say any of these things.  How can I?  The risk is too great.

Yes, I am still paying the price.

Being Findable Online and Fear of Rejection

I've been going to a Bible study for the last couple of years. I sorta stopped going much this past year. We were going through a book that I can't remember the name of and the next week we were going to be reading and then talking about a chapter that covered rape. I couldn't go that week or the next, and I've been sporadic in my attendance ever since.

Well the lady who hosts the study is the sister in law of a guy I slightly knew in high school and we ended up going to the same college and hung out a lot our freshman year. He is now a lawyer and he was always a real decent guy. I want to be a person easier to find online so that former students/victims of slimeball can get in touch with me and we can stop him. So I was thinking of a good email address and searchable info I could use but then I thought I should check it with a lawyer to make sure I wasn't shooting myself in the foot for later prosecution of him. AHA I thought, I know a lawyer, sorta. So I called my friend that hosts the Bible study and stumbled around to ask her to ask her husband to ask his brother my question. The joys of giving background info...not. Anyway I can now add another person on my list of people who know. I didn't tell her specifics, but enough so that it's easy to fill in the blanks. I did tell her I had an odd question. I'm getting better at this, maybe I can talk to Dr C halfway intelligently and not have to look at my talking point notes when/if he calls me back.

I did ask her to not advertise it. I'm not sure how she can ask my question without her husband knowing who she is talking about. I got her cell # from him tonight, and then she is going to go home and ask him this question. Oh well. It is what it is. -----I just called her and told her that I had called H and got her cell # from him and that he's not stupid, he can put 2 and 2 together and it's all right, so don't stress over me saying don't advertise it. She assured me that it won't go any further than them.

I think they had already been talking from what all she said to me, but I'm not sure.

Last July(2008) I had been told in some kind of confrontation thing, by people I thought were my friends, that I was all kinds of awful and they were quite specific. One of the things that I was accused of, was hiding behind past abuse as an excuse for not trusting and being open with these very new friends. They put us out of their lives and said that after I had gotten help and changed and fulfilled a list of requirements that the men would get back together and see if I was qualified to be allowed back in their lives.

You know, for someone who is terrified of rejection this was very severe. I didn't know it was possible to stay awake and cry the whole night long until the sun rises. I cried beyond tears. It hurt so bad that I never even wrote about it after the verdict was given.
I had tried so hard to trust and I had opened up to a certain point and where I was most vunerable is where they plunged in the dagger of rejection and unworthiness.

We have made some new friends since then. I have been quite aloof and kept most recent pains and intense past pain to myself. I don't think I come across as aloof, at least it is an acceptable level if they do think so. I am so afraid of losing our new friends that I am always amazed when I see acceptance and tolerance of differences and forgiveness, but yet I still haven't risked them knowing my personal past pain or ours as a family in what we went through with one of our children.

Acting the Turtle

Do you ever realize that you're probably wrong about something, but you just can't let go of it? I've a few things right now that are that way. It's always been easy to excuse because the other person is a lot more to blame than I am.

What I'm struggling with right now is that I'm keeping people at arms length or farther because somebody recently dropped me and backed off like I came down with leprosy. It's not that I'm so thin-skinned that I can't take it. It's more the timing of and that it seems to be the story of my life.

How do I look to Jesus and not people and yet still have biblical relationships and real fellowship? I understand that people will disappoint or outright hurt me in various ways. I want to minimize the damage by acting the turtle. I don't want to be a box turtle and keep everybody completely out and I don't want to be a snapping turtle and scare everyone off. I'm thinking I'd like to be some type of sea turtle or giant tortoise; approachable, but not everybody's dinner.

God's Hug

Things with my son have settled down for now. I wish I was grateful, but I'm not. I'm waiting for the next thing. What will hit me next? I've just got my balance back from reeling in the shock and agony of what the last six months has brought to my family. I now understand the phrase "anguish of soul". It is a pain so intense that you can't think where to turn. I never would have thought that pain that wasn't physical could hurt so bad.

Eventually I did turn to God. I also tried to turn to people in the church who were praying for us. That didn't work out. I wanted someone I could see and touch to be there with me through that time, even if it was just on the phone. For some reason I thought that at least they could listen and pray for me as I had to live it. I was living it, and they couldn't even handle hearing about it. So much for people coming alongside.

I did find someone who was there on the phone, for the times I needed a person who understood. She had a son like mine, she understood my pain, she let me talk and cry. She prayed for me and our family. I've never even seen her and we don't even live in the same state, but I've cried into the phone with her countless times in the last six months. She could handle it, because she's lived it.

I haven't talked to her for a while now. I need to call her again, just to talk. She was God's hug to me.