Today I'm a horrible mom. I've stayed locked in my room for most of the day curled up under the blankets, shaking. My older children, young adults really, have fixed meals and boo boos for the little ones.
All I've done is stay alive. Barely.
It would be nice to point to just one thing that I can fix and then solve the problem. I can't. I don't know how to fix it. If Bob Jones University had admitted their wrong doing and made real changes instead of saying they are right about how they counsel; would that have made a difference in my today? I know that the CYA apology Pettit gave sure hasn't helped me today. It is more like I've been at the edge of the cliff with a few steps to spare and I just got shoved and I'm flailing my arms on the edge wondering why I don't just go with it and fall.
Then I hear my little ones voices. They bring me pictures they colored. An older one comes to tell me a funny story. I talk with friends who know and care. And I keep on flailing my arms, trying not to fall.
Showing posts with label flashbacks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flashbacks. Show all posts
Friday, March 13, 2015
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?
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Forgiveness Without Coercion: What does it look like?
If anyone would have told me 6 months ago that I would be in contact with a former counselor and forgiveness would be brought up, and the end result would be a good one; I never would have believed it. For the first time in my life someone asked for my forgiveness and didn't try to avoid responsibility or turn it back on me and make it out to be my fault in any way. I am still in shock. I've never experienced anything like this in my life. (There has been one other person, but that happened outside of the IFB/BJU world and the whole process was much simpler.)
Forgive It's one of those major trigger words that can easily lead to full blown flashbacks. Except this time it didn't. I'm not say it wasn't triggering and that I didn't have flashbacks, but because of the other persons response to me the flashbacks didn't become debilitating. I did lose some time( the name I've used to describe dissociation for 20 years, before I knew there was a name for it) but overall it was just a beautiful demonstration of what the process of forgiveness and reconciliation can look like. This may not sound like a positive experience, but it was and is. It was hard work and took the better part of three days. At the beginning of this renewed contact I had no inkling where it would go. At first I received a somewhat generic request for my forgiveness without the other person really comprehending what it was they were asking my forgiveness for. Back and forth we went until I was concise and specific enough that the only option left would be to dodge it, turn it back on me, or accept responsibility. Amazingly, the responsibility was accepted and forgiveness still asked for and then granted. By the end, I actually wanted to forgive and I wasn't guilted into it.
Wow! If this were to happen for everyone; what a different world we would be in. Granted, this is only one person and not even my original abuser, but the effect this persons counsel had on me was far reaching and life threatening. For this person to acknowledge the harm, is such a huge deal for me. I never thought it possible. Maybe, just maybe, others will follow suit for me and for others. And maybe the hurt, and the fear, and the never ending guilt can begin to be assuaged, for all of us. As to the teacher that abused me in elementary school, I doubt he would know genuine repentance if it ran over him, but that is a topic for another post.
Maybe someday I will be at a point where I can read the Bible without being severely triggered and spiraling into either dissociation or flashbacks. For now I'm ok with enjoying the good things in life and being thankful to God for the beauty I see. The GRACE investigation set off a chain of events in my life that is truly life changing. I have to face the past or be crushed by it. It's a slow road to healing and agonizing at times, but I think I have hope that it is possible.
Forgive It's one of those major trigger words that can easily lead to full blown flashbacks. Except this time it didn't. I'm not say it wasn't triggering and that I didn't have flashbacks, but because of the other persons response to me the flashbacks didn't become debilitating. I did lose some time( the name I've used to describe dissociation for 20 years, before I knew there was a name for it) but overall it was just a beautiful demonstration of what the process of forgiveness and reconciliation can look like. This may not sound like a positive experience, but it was and is. It was hard work and took the better part of three days. At the beginning of this renewed contact I had no inkling where it would go. At first I received a somewhat generic request for my forgiveness without the other person really comprehending what it was they were asking my forgiveness for. Back and forth we went until I was concise and specific enough that the only option left would be to dodge it, turn it back on me, or accept responsibility. Amazingly, the responsibility was accepted and forgiveness still asked for and then granted. By the end, I actually wanted to forgive and I wasn't guilted into it.
Wow! If this were to happen for everyone; what a different world we would be in. Granted, this is only one person and not even my original abuser, but the effect this persons counsel had on me was far reaching and life threatening. For this person to acknowledge the harm, is such a huge deal for me. I never thought it possible. Maybe, just maybe, others will follow suit for me and for others. And maybe the hurt, and the fear, and the never ending guilt can begin to be assuaged, for all of us. As to the teacher that abused me in elementary school, I doubt he would know genuine repentance if it ran over him, but that is a topic for another post.
Maybe someday I will be at a point where I can read the Bible without being severely triggered and spiraling into either dissociation or flashbacks. For now I'm ok with enjoying the good things in life and being thankful to God for the beauty I see. The GRACE investigation set off a chain of events in my life that is truly life changing. I have to face the past or be crushed by it. It's a slow road to healing and agonizing at times, but I think I have hope that it is possible.
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
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
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.
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.
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