My name is Cristina D. Johnson and I'm sorry to those who think this stuff is redundant. This is my life. This is what I am going through.
My days are like this....
I wake up every morning at 6:30 when Bill calls me. It's 5:30 where he is and he has to be at work at 6 o'clock. Thankfully, this works out well because this is when Trevor is up, getting ready for school. He doesn't like me to be overbearing ("did you put on deodorant?" "Did you brush your teeth?" "Do your clothes match?" "Did you eat breakfast?") so all he really wants is for me to wake up, check on him, and that's kind of how it goes. Then he leaves for school.
I end up crawling back into bed because I spent the previous night up until at least 1 a.m. - sometimes as late as 3 or 4 a.m. - talking with Bill. Depends on the conversation and how I'm doing. He's always concerned when I'm not myself (like last night).
This morning, after I went back to sleep, I had another nightmare. This one was hideous.
It's a little sketchy and scattered but Gary was there and my son, Tony was there (I know this is connected to the hurtful and shameless texts Tony was sending me the other night when he was drunk) but he'd told Gary (in my dream) that'd I had been sleeping with him (Tony). I confronted Tony immediately! Never! never, ever, ever!!! I was so unaffectionate with my children because of this fear of the mentality that "oh...it's passed down from generation to generation..." Oh my God I wouldn't even bathe Tony as a child unless someone was present and the door was open. It's an unfortunate truth. (Fortunately, Trevor does not appreciate nor want affection - part of his autism).
Anyway, we were in a place, some place where they did performances and all our old "mutual friends" were there and they had masks on. They were singing. They would mess up on stage, argue, then start over again, but when this accusation came out, suddenly I was somewhere else...I don't know, maybe on a bus? Somewhere small and confined, and all the sudden people - these "mutual friends" (one I recognized immediately was Hedy), began throwing things at me and kicking me and hurting me. I saw Gary standing nearby and he had his arms crossed, over his chest...staring at me with disgust as these people kept yelling obscenities at me and kicking me and throwing things at me. At one point, I was in the street and they were kicking dirty snow and ice at me as I cried.
There was more to the dream than that, but this is the part that sticks out most, besides one other part: a black man who resembled Forest Whitaker who was kind to me. My instinct and intuition aligns him with Bill because, in the dream, he stuck out (he was black) and he was gentle (like Bill) and worked hard (like Bill) and, most importantly, he was kind to me (like Bill). He invited me to come to his apartment. He stood outside his door, unlocking it, and spoke so gently, telling me I was welcome inside - welcome to come in and be safe - and I was afraid. I was dirty. I couldn't go into the apartment.
I know this seems repetitive, but my days and nights are filled with torment over nightmares and flashbacks - all of Gary.
Today, shaken over my nightmare, I was talked through it by Cindy and Bill. At least to a point where - along with two Klonopin - I was able to make it to the store and post office. I felt accomplished, although weary and concerned about what to make for dinner. I opted for something simple: sloppy joes, but the ground beef was so damned expensive I chose some hamburger patties. I hate feeding my child what I can afford, rather than what I want to feed him.
Anyway....
Trevor got home from school as I was packaging up a care package to send to Bill (it's cold in Illinois and, well, he's a wuss as far as cold weather goes) so I had to get that sent. I did it.
I came home, I put up all the things I'd bought, spread the towel out on my bed as I always do (to protect against dirt, cigarette ashes, cat hair, etc.) and rocked...just rocked... and suddenly, I was hit like a truck with the flashback of when I moved in (I'm sure it had something to do with Samantha's post on moving alone with no help).
I told Trevor he could have the leftover steak in the fridge that I couldn't eat the other night. This pleased him, of course. "Are there any mashed potatoes left?" he asked. "Yep," was my answer, trying to be upbeat.
As he ate downstairs, alone, I sat on my towel, on my bed, and rocked and rocked and rocked...just rocking.... and I saw in my mind, the day I moved. Gary was the only one I could ask for help. He still had the seats out of the van from when he helped "Dee" move. He and Kurt helped. It took them two or three days to move her stuff. I'm sure they were very careful with her stuff.
It took one day to move mine and when it was done, I had scratches and scars, broken furniture...nothing was cared for or handled carefully. Nothing about what was important to me, mattered. It was a rush.
It was a hot day and Gary wore a white shirt. I believe he wore shorts. He kept ordering Trevor around, yelling at him although he was doing his best. I've never seen my son work so hard, without argument. He did everything Gary said and told him to do, but seldom without criticism, although he was working so hard to do his best. My baby wanted out of there so bad, that he put up with Gary's degradation and never said a word.
At the end of the day - when he called his friend, Kurt who had a truck to help move the last of the larger items - I was treated like I was diseased. Shows how clueless Gary is. He told Kurt God-only-knows what, who, in turn I'm sure, shared with his new girlfriend, Sandy (who was there that day), and who said something to me that she had no reason, business or right to say: "Take care of yourself. I hope you get better."
Well-intended, I'm sure, but none of hers (OR ANYONE'S) business!
That's how I was treated in my dream.
After everything was moved in, and though I knew Gary was seeing someone else - and had been - I recall, it was dark. He and Kurt were going to hook up that night.
We stood in the kitchen, by the back door before he left. He still wore a black bandana around his head to guard the sweat coming into his eyes. He was merciless that day. To me, and to Trevor.
I began to cry.
I walked up to him, I put my arms around him. Oh God.
I cried. I don't remember what I said. I don't remember what he said.
I just remember that he held me, rather sideways....as if he didn't want to cheat on his new girlfriend. As if, again, I was diseased.
I wanted more than anything at that moment for him to just hold me. HOLD ME. Hold me, goddamnit, the way I've needed you to for months!! Show me you don't want this! Show me you love me! Show me I matter to you!!!!
But it was just a sideways embrace. Like our entire relationship. I put my heart into it, my trust into it. I opened up and dared to be vulnerable, only to get half a hug and a pat on the head.
Now....
Now I have Bill who is absolutely in love with me - always has been. He's helped me (and is helping me....and us) more than anyone ever has. And I can only have nightmares about Gary and mourn and cry and feel afraid because of how people treat me. Even my own son.
Nobody gets it. No, "Dee," you DON'T get it and you never did - claiming to be my friend - and never will. You, in my dream, threw things and kicked me. You were never a friend. Just keep enjoying your absolut and living vicariously through your children, and letting men buy you drinks while you drink yourself into denial.
Bill.... Bill ...oh God.
How do I reach that level of trust and openness and vulnerability that I had with Gary - he promise....he promised....God he promised...
And although Bill has never let me down, never betrayed me, always been there, treats me spectacularly.... I am still so terrified. So afraid. So so afraid.
I don't know what to think or believe. I don't know who to believe. I'm so lost. I'm so, so lost. I'm afraid in my own home.
All I could think this morning was, "I don't belong here" and when I said it, I felt like I don't belong anywhere. I never have. Especially here - where everyone's wearing a mask and kicking me while I'm down. Oh God how that hurts.
This isn't to say there aren't supportive people out there and I suppose it's hard to be supportive when you've heard only one side of the story and you believe it. I suppose that's easy to do, when the person telling the story is buying the drinks, throwing the parties and has been here for over 30 years.
I got so far....so, so far in my therapy and in my journey when I lived with Gary. I thought he understood, at least a little.... but then he got misinformed by a mutual friend who, I'm sure meant well, but did not do any good to help. She hurt, more than she helped. An LCSW, at that. She did nothing to help Gary understand what was happening....just took his word for it (they went to school together) rather than asking my side of it.
It's going to take me a long time to get over this. I have cried so much today, that I'm glad I have nothing to do tomorrow. I will look like a raccoon with puffy eyes.
I'm flying blind. I'm in this dark, damp, dank dingy tunnel, the walls are cold and wet, and there's no light and I keep pushing forward, but there's no light yet.... I have to be vulnerable enough to just keep going...just keep my hands on the cold brick, around the curves, and hope...hope...hope that in the light will be Bill and Cindy and ....others.
Right now, in CT.....I feel like I'm in a different world. These people as a rule, have no idea. They just have no idea and you can't tell them because they don't want to hear it. They can't envision it because life here, in CT, is beautiful. Full of fall foliage and rivers and streams. The Sound and beautiful mountains and nature.
No, no, no you can't have DID or PTSD....that doesn't exist in this world.
Furthermore, if it does, get over it because we can't handle it.
Gary.......oh Gary.
Oh God I wish you knew. Oh my heart splits right now, right down the middle just wishing you knew. I never needed at hero. You thought I did. I didn't. I needed someone to help me bring out my own hero. Someone who would be there, unconditionally.
And there's Bill...there unconditionally...and you've made me fear him.
Everyone here, makes me fear people. Everything in my past makes me fear people. Going to the grocery store I am terrified of seeing someone who knows me. I hide my face. I move fast. Very fast. I don't want to be seen.
I will get better. I won't always have these horribly sad, depressing blogs but for now, this is part of my journey. And that's what this blog is about: The Journey.
I don't know who reads my blogs. I write them for me...and I truly hope/wish they help others, but this is my venue. Forgive me if I sound like a victim.
I am a fighter...just been knocked down pretty bad this time. I appreciate that some of you have stayed with me.
Showing posts with label break. Show all posts
Showing posts with label break. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
Left to Myself
My Name is Cristina D. Johnson
"What's wrong?" Michelle (my therapist) asked as she opened the door. My eyes were brimming with tears. Bill sat in the waiting room with me, watching me intently. Rose to give me a hug.
"I'll be okay," I lied.
As I walked into Michelle's office, the crying started. "I can see you're upset," she said as she handed me a box of tissues.
"We just found out Bill is leaving for Illinois this weekend," I choked out.
She sat quietly for a moment. "Let's just take a minute and breathe," she said. I huffed out a few labored breaths. It felt like someone was squeezing my chest with a vise.
"What else?" she asked, intuitively knowing there was more.
"I had to talk to Gary yesterday. That didn't help."
She nodded.
"And I was going to go see Carolyn but I backed out - I just can't do it. I'm not ready," I said.
She nodded again and I was still sobbing, although I'd calmed slightly.
"So let's just take a minute and get you grounded," she said calmly. "You have a lot going on and we have a whole session to talk about it."
I nodded and we just sat there in silence for a couple of minutes.
Bill has been here for about a month, although I've known him over twelve years. We've worked together, lived together, dated, then lived together again, and then parted ways as friends. We both understood - to our core - what unconditional love is and we both agreed that our friendship was more valuable than trying to be in a relationship.
And so it's been for years. He's been a constant friend, not just to me but to my son as well.
For the past month, he has been my constant companion. He's seen me through multiple meltdowns, slobbering, snotty, trembling break-downs over my break up. He's listened to me sob over my pain, held my hands when I was shaking and wiped my tears away with his thumbs. He's stood by as I vomited and gagged and was there with a wet washcloth when it was over, each time telling me, "Don't apologize. You don't have anything to apologize for."
He came initially to see how I was doing and, in his own words, he'd never seen me as bad as I was. The things I was going through with the break-up, the agony of my therapy and the flashbacks...everything and he swore he would do whatever he could to get me out of that house, away from the horrible triggers and abuse I was experiencing and somewhere safe, where I could be independent.
He kept his word. He has helped me in every way possible. He has been my friend. My only friend. My true friend. He has made me laugh, eaten dinner with Trevor and I, and sat silently with me, intuitively knowing me so well, that he knew I needed simply to think. He's read every blog (and always has), and every book or article I've shown him. He's given me more support than anyone ever has, in my entire life.
"What is it you're afraid of?" Michelle asked me, regarding Bill leaving.
"Being alone," I answered. "Not belonging here. I don't belong here. I am scared to go to the grocery store. I'm scared to go anywhere," I cried. "He's my only friend."
Which led to the conversation about Carolyn and Gary.
"Why do they have so much power over you?" she asked.
"I don't know. I wish I knew. I gave them that power by letting them in. By getting close to them," I answered.
She nodded. "So how can you take that power back?" she asked.
"I don't know. I can't even stand the thought of either of them. I can't stand the thought of the things they did. I can't stand that he's doing the things he's doing. It literally makes me sick in my stomach."
And the truth is, I don't know. I don't know how.... I don't know.
"Bill has been a helpful distraction for you," she said. "His leaving is going to allow you to experience the grieving process."
"I've grieved and Bill has been there through it. I've gotten angry, I've wept..."
"Yes, but now you're going to be doing it alone and maybe that's what you're supposed to do," she said. Then she paused and she said, "I'm just going to throw this out there....it could be way, way off..."
"Maybe the years you spent with Gary were meant to bring you here, to this place. This place where you are feeling emotions that you've never felt before."
I'd actually thought about that - more than once - and I told her so.
"You say you're disconnected but I see you feeling feelings. Maybe, when Bill is gone, you'll experience the feelings of grief and pain and all that comes with grieving."
It was a tearful session. I feel sick - extremely nauseated. All of my "friends" are partying on his boat, oblivious to the PTSD and DID symptoms I've had to endure because of the things he did to me.
Bill is my only friend.
And he is leaving.
And I am afraid.
"What's wrong?" Michelle (my therapist) asked as she opened the door. My eyes were brimming with tears. Bill sat in the waiting room with me, watching me intently. Rose to give me a hug.
"I'll be okay," I lied.
As I walked into Michelle's office, the crying started. "I can see you're upset," she said as she handed me a box of tissues.
"We just found out Bill is leaving for Illinois this weekend," I choked out.
She sat quietly for a moment. "Let's just take a minute and breathe," she said. I huffed out a few labored breaths. It felt like someone was squeezing my chest with a vise.
"What else?" she asked, intuitively knowing there was more.
"I had to talk to Gary yesterday. That didn't help."
She nodded.
"And I was going to go see Carolyn but I backed out - I just can't do it. I'm not ready," I said.
She nodded again and I was still sobbing, although I'd calmed slightly.
"So let's just take a minute and get you grounded," she said calmly. "You have a lot going on and we have a whole session to talk about it."
I nodded and we just sat there in silence for a couple of minutes.
Bill has been here for about a month, although I've known him over twelve years. We've worked together, lived together, dated, then lived together again, and then parted ways as friends. We both understood - to our core - what unconditional love is and we both agreed that our friendship was more valuable than trying to be in a relationship.
And so it's been for years. He's been a constant friend, not just to me but to my son as well.
For the past month, he has been my constant companion. He's seen me through multiple meltdowns, slobbering, snotty, trembling break-downs over my break up. He's listened to me sob over my pain, held my hands when I was shaking and wiped my tears away with his thumbs. He's stood by as I vomited and gagged and was there with a wet washcloth when it was over, each time telling me, "Don't apologize. You don't have anything to apologize for."
He came initially to see how I was doing and, in his own words, he'd never seen me as bad as I was. The things I was going through with the break-up, the agony of my therapy and the flashbacks...everything and he swore he would do whatever he could to get me out of that house, away from the horrible triggers and abuse I was experiencing and somewhere safe, where I could be independent.
He kept his word. He has helped me in every way possible. He has been my friend. My only friend. My true friend. He has made me laugh, eaten dinner with Trevor and I, and sat silently with me, intuitively knowing me so well, that he knew I needed simply to think. He's read every blog (and always has), and every book or article I've shown him. He's given me more support than anyone ever has, in my entire life.
"What is it you're afraid of?" Michelle asked me, regarding Bill leaving.
"Being alone," I answered. "Not belonging here. I don't belong here. I am scared to go to the grocery store. I'm scared to go anywhere," I cried. "He's my only friend."
Which led to the conversation about Carolyn and Gary.
"Why do they have so much power over you?" she asked.
"I don't know. I wish I knew. I gave them that power by letting them in. By getting close to them," I answered.
She nodded. "So how can you take that power back?" she asked.
"I don't know. I can't even stand the thought of either of them. I can't stand the thought of the things they did. I can't stand that he's doing the things he's doing. It literally makes me sick in my stomach."
And the truth is, I don't know. I don't know how.... I don't know.
"Bill has been a helpful distraction for you," she said. "His leaving is going to allow you to experience the grieving process."
"I've grieved and Bill has been there through it. I've gotten angry, I've wept..."
"Yes, but now you're going to be doing it alone and maybe that's what you're supposed to do," she said. Then she paused and she said, "I'm just going to throw this out there....it could be way, way off..."
"Maybe the years you spent with Gary were meant to bring you here, to this place. This place where you are feeling emotions that you've never felt before."
I'd actually thought about that - more than once - and I told her so.
"You say you're disconnected but I see you feeling feelings. Maybe, when Bill is gone, you'll experience the feelings of grief and pain and all that comes with grieving."
It was a tearful session. I feel sick - extremely nauseated. All of my "friends" are partying on his boat, oblivious to the PTSD and DID symptoms I've had to endure because of the things he did to me.
Bill is my only friend.
And he is leaving.
And I am afraid.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Warped Love
I talked with my therapist yesterday about love. About my warped sense of love. About how I don't understand it. How I can love others, but never believe anyone loves me. I don't think this is uncommon among incest survivors.
It came up because I was willing to do anything to make Gary love me - the same as with my father...and I did. As he molested me, I was making him love me, even if it hurt me.
I told her, during my many rapes, I would somehow fantasize that each man would look into my crying eyes and decide that he loved me. This only compounds my shame. Wanting to be loved by my rapists.
This was reinforced so many times, I cannot count.
So now, it's no wonder that I'll do, be, say, act and otherwise show anything I can, just to be loved.
And it's always aimed at men - always has been. Never women or friends; they can't "love" me like ...well, you know. I suppose this is because it started in my formative years with my father.
I know, intellectually, that I have to learn to love myself. This seems like such a monumental task. Huge.
I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to look myself in the mirror and say, "You're beautiful and I love you." I don't know how to think of myself in terms of self-love - how could someone who's done the things I've done, possibly love herself, whoever "herself" is?
So, instead of looking inside for that love, I've always looked outside which just leads to more reinforcement of how unlovable I am.
Gary's rejection; Her rejection; Everyone's rejection (because of Gary telling everyone about it) just reinforces how unlovable I am because there's no love inside myself for me.
Just this self-loathing. Disgust. Shame. Guilt.
Oh my God the shame - that word again. It creeps up almost every blog.
I suppose feeling it and being aware of it are steps towards healing but what a God-awful feeling. Like someone's ripped your bones right from your body and you're nothing but an empty, deflated shell.
The constant barrages of being put down or hurt by him, leads to those text messages I've blogged about. The betrayal I see, I don't know how to respond except in anger because he's telling me - again, in my language - that I don't matter and I am unlovable. I do get bitterly defensive and angry and say things I would normally never say. It's totally a defense mechanism. It's saying, "Fuck you! I won't let you have this power over me! I'm going to hurt you as bad as you're hurting me!!"
Yesterday my therapist explained that he is not the kind of person I need in my life right now. I need people who are understanding, patient, compassionate, loving and supportive. Not the kind of people who do the things that Gary is doing. Heartless things. Careless, reckless things.
She is right.
I deserve better. I deserve these things.
But where do I begin?
It came up because I was willing to do anything to make Gary love me - the same as with my father...and I did. As he molested me, I was making him love me, even if it hurt me.
I told her, during my many rapes, I would somehow fantasize that each man would look into my crying eyes and decide that he loved me. This only compounds my shame. Wanting to be loved by my rapists.
This was reinforced so many times, I cannot count.
So now, it's no wonder that I'll do, be, say, act and otherwise show anything I can, just to be loved.
And it's always aimed at men - always has been. Never women or friends; they can't "love" me like ...well, you know. I suppose this is because it started in my formative years with my father.
I know, intellectually, that I have to learn to love myself. This seems like such a monumental task. Huge.
I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to look myself in the mirror and say, "You're beautiful and I love you." I don't know how to think of myself in terms of self-love - how could someone who's done the things I've done, possibly love herself, whoever "herself" is?
So, instead of looking inside for that love, I've always looked outside which just leads to more reinforcement of how unlovable I am.
Gary's rejection; Her rejection; Everyone's rejection (because of Gary telling everyone about it) just reinforces how unlovable I am because there's no love inside myself for me.
Just this self-loathing. Disgust. Shame. Guilt.
Oh my God the shame - that word again. It creeps up almost every blog.
I suppose feeling it and being aware of it are steps towards healing but what a God-awful feeling. Like someone's ripped your bones right from your body and you're nothing but an empty, deflated shell.
The constant barrages of being put down or hurt by him, leads to those text messages I've blogged about. The betrayal I see, I don't know how to respond except in anger because he's telling me - again, in my language - that I don't matter and I am unlovable. I do get bitterly defensive and angry and say things I would normally never say. It's totally a defense mechanism. It's saying, "Fuck you! I won't let you have this power over me! I'm going to hurt you as bad as you're hurting me!!"
Yesterday my therapist explained that he is not the kind of person I need in my life right now. I need people who are understanding, patient, compassionate, loving and supportive. Not the kind of people who do the things that Gary is doing. Heartless things. Careless, reckless things.
She is right.
I deserve better. I deserve these things.
But where do I begin?
Friday, July 6, 2012
Changes
Yesterday morning, we talked - had a good talk, actually, although - again - my issues were thrown in my face, he kept saying he wasn't trying to shame me. I cried and he cried. He even said the day I move out will be one of the hardest days of his life. We talked about not wanting the relationship to end, but he felt it must. Thought it was what was best for me.
As he got up to leave, he hugged me, kissed the top of my head and went upstairs to go to work.
I was just sitting there, crying, thinking about everything that had been said, wondering why I am more willing to forgive than him.
I went to the store, bought a six-pack, and went to my sitting spot. I didn't even want to drink - not at all. Wasn't in the mood, was just hurting.
I texted him as much - told him I didn't want to drink. He said to pour it out and do something different. I asked him why we couldn't work it out...told him if we can't work through the tough times, how could we ever be a couple. Told him people who've been together for 50 and 60 years didn't quit during the hard times. Promised I would do things differently, if he would do the same. He was relatively amenable and I started to think a lot differently.
Started to think about the easy changes I could make - drinking being one of them. I don't need to drink, don't crave it, just drink to numb.
So I poured it out. I did something different. I came home, laid down and took a nap. When I awoke, I started dinner. He was in the shower.
I was excited, actually, because I thought we reached a different place; a place of reconciliation where we might be able to work through these issues we're both having.
I was also proud of myself for choosing something different. To me, it was like a small token of my commitment - a literal gift to show him how serious I was about working through it.
As I cooked dinner, he went upstairs. I could hear him up there. I wondered if he had an appointment with his therapist, but then noted the time - too late for that, so maybe he's just getting dressed.
Dinner was almost done when he came downstairs. Dressed to go out, cologne and all.
"I'm making dinner for you guys," I said to him, half-heartrboken, half-hopeful.
"I wish I'd known," he answered. "I ate at 4:30 and I'm not hungry."
I just looked at him.
He said: "I'm going down to the marina and then I'll probably go to [the bar] afterwards."
It sunk into my heart like a knife.
"So I guess I'm the only one who's supposed to do things differently?" I ask.
I began to cry. Chin-shaking, heart-aching cry. I had felt so good to do something different and so hopeful...
so hopeful....
"You just don't want me to have a life," he said to me at one point.
I could have just died.
I felt so rejected. So abandoned...again. Mocked. I was giving something - a small step, small token - only to have it thrown back in my face. I felt ridiculous, like a fool.
I cried out the door as he left, "You're wrong! You're so wrong!"
And then I sobbed and sobbed for awhile in my room.
I cleaned myself up, fed Trevor.
Grabbed my cooler and headed to my spot.
I sat there on the dock....so cool, so peaceful. I was so devastated that he wouldn't even try. Wouldn't even discuss trying.
I had my bottle of water with me, and I sat there drinking it. A kayaker went by, waved. I waved back.
Somehow it made me think - seeing this kayaker - that drinking isn't what I want to do, not at all. I had at least a six-pack with me and I could've but I just didn't want it.
I sat at my spot for about 30 minutes and then came home. Originally, I had texted him saying, "Well, I guess I'll just do the same thing you're doing, then." (something like that). But then I texted him and told him I wasn't going to drink tonight, that I don't want to and that I was merely telling him for the sheer joy of telling him.
Which is true - I didn't tell him to try and change his mind because I'd already decided - the moment he walked out the door - that I deserve better. I deserve to be treated fairly, instead of constantly put down and shamed. (I know there's one person that'll probably read this and be like, "Thank God!" because she wants nothing more than to see Gary and I stay split up).
Yeah, I told him almost to just rub it in his face....to say it's not for him, it's for me and he can have "his life" all he wants.
I came home, watched a movie (The Preacher's Wife....was good), and then a couple other t.v. shows. By midnight, I was tired and he still wasn't home. I knew where he was and who he was with, but I just didn't care.
I just don't care anymore.
Someone who wanted to work it out, would do something different than he did last night.
Just like I did.
I didn't drink at all... and it felt good.
As he got up to leave, he hugged me, kissed the top of my head and went upstairs to go to work.
I was just sitting there, crying, thinking about everything that had been said, wondering why I am more willing to forgive than him.
I went to the store, bought a six-pack, and went to my sitting spot. I didn't even want to drink - not at all. Wasn't in the mood, was just hurting.
I texted him as much - told him I didn't want to drink. He said to pour it out and do something different. I asked him why we couldn't work it out...told him if we can't work through the tough times, how could we ever be a couple. Told him people who've been together for 50 and 60 years didn't quit during the hard times. Promised I would do things differently, if he would do the same. He was relatively amenable and I started to think a lot differently.
Started to think about the easy changes I could make - drinking being one of them. I don't need to drink, don't crave it, just drink to numb.
So I poured it out. I did something different. I came home, laid down and took a nap. When I awoke, I started dinner. He was in the shower.
I was excited, actually, because I thought we reached a different place; a place of reconciliation where we might be able to work through these issues we're both having.
I was also proud of myself for choosing something different. To me, it was like a small token of my commitment - a literal gift to show him how serious I was about working through it.
As I cooked dinner, he went upstairs. I could hear him up there. I wondered if he had an appointment with his therapist, but then noted the time - too late for that, so maybe he's just getting dressed.
Dinner was almost done when he came downstairs. Dressed to go out, cologne and all.
"I'm making dinner for you guys," I said to him, half-heartrboken, half-hopeful.
"I wish I'd known," he answered. "I ate at 4:30 and I'm not hungry."
I just looked at him.
He said: "I'm going down to the marina and then I'll probably go to [the bar] afterwards."
It sunk into my heart like a knife.
"So I guess I'm the only one who's supposed to do things differently?" I ask.
I began to cry. Chin-shaking, heart-aching cry. I had felt so good to do something different and so hopeful...
so hopeful....
"You just don't want me to have a life," he said to me at one point.
I could have just died.
I felt so rejected. So abandoned...again. Mocked. I was giving something - a small step, small token - only to have it thrown back in my face. I felt ridiculous, like a fool.
I cried out the door as he left, "You're wrong! You're so wrong!"
And then I sobbed and sobbed for awhile in my room.
I cleaned myself up, fed Trevor.
Grabbed my cooler and headed to my spot.
I sat there on the dock....so cool, so peaceful. I was so devastated that he wouldn't even try. Wouldn't even discuss trying.
I had my bottle of water with me, and I sat there drinking it. A kayaker went by, waved. I waved back.
Somehow it made me think - seeing this kayaker - that drinking isn't what I want to do, not at all. I had at least a six-pack with me and I could've but I just didn't want it.
I sat at my spot for about 30 minutes and then came home. Originally, I had texted him saying, "Well, I guess I'll just do the same thing you're doing, then." (something like that). But then I texted him and told him I wasn't going to drink tonight, that I don't want to and that I was merely telling him for the sheer joy of telling him.
Which is true - I didn't tell him to try and change his mind because I'd already decided - the moment he walked out the door - that I deserve better. I deserve to be treated fairly, instead of constantly put down and shamed. (I know there's one person that'll probably read this and be like, "Thank God!" because she wants nothing more than to see Gary and I stay split up).
Yeah, I told him almost to just rub it in his face....to say it's not for him, it's for me and he can have "his life" all he wants.
I came home, watched a movie (The Preacher's Wife....was good), and then a couple other t.v. shows. By midnight, I was tired and he still wasn't home. I knew where he was and who he was with, but I just didn't care.
I just don't care anymore.
Someone who wanted to work it out, would do something different than he did last night.
Just like I did.
I didn't drink at all... and it felt good.
Friday, June 29, 2012
My Current Truth
I'm in the beginning stages of "healing" - I use quotation marks because it sure as hell doesn't feel like healing. They call it the crisis stage and it's unbearable to go through alone.
My life is a wreck - all caused by me. For the past four weeks, I've been volatile and unpredictable because of this pain I'm in over this break-up. I don't know how to handle it. I keep having nightmares about him.
So then I go drink (alone, by the water) and it helps...
But sometimes it brings out the worst, although I don't have to be drinking for my worst to come out and usually the worst only comes out when he's here, in reaction to feeling abandoned (that's not an excuse).
Some of my sins:
This morning we talked and he told me - again - what a vile person I am. He didn't use those exact words, but he told me some pretty hurtful things, including "I don't care about you" and he doesn't love me. These words cut me more than anything. And, to make it worse, it was my fault. My fault that he no longer cares for or loves me. He says I lie to myself and to everyone, and he can't believe a word I say. It's like four good years of our five years together is gone...never existed. He said not one kind thing about me...or to me. He even said he's "waiting for the opportunity [to call the cops on me]"
Oh God...
All of this is my fault. Everything. I don't know how to handle any emotions so it all just comes out as rage... I don't know what else to do. So on top of that, I have to deal with knowing that everything is my fault.
This makes me think of daddy..... makes me angry, makes me hurt more than anything. The anger comes out at Gary or (a couple times) Carolyn or my oldest son or whomever is in firing range - but the hurt...I cry sitting here now, thinking about how the things my father and the many other men did to me, have led me to this and how everyone expects me to just get over it...and I'm trying. I'm trying so hard, and I was told to embrace the people who are there and who love me and care and want me to heal but I don't believe that. I don't believe anyone can love or care or help. I never have. How can someone like me ever be loved?
See Attachment Disorder.When you go through what I went through as an infant and toddler, it happens.
Sounds like a big pity party, doesn't it?
It's not. It's the truth of how it feels to have your wreck of a life, thrown in your face without any compassion for the things that have gotten you there to begin with. You're already walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders - already trying to save face, already trying to fake it...trying to matter... trying to ignore the enormous shame and guilt and filth that lives inside you - and then someone comes along and shames you, guilts you and makes you feel even more filthy.
I wanted, this morning, to tell him he's a good friend...wanted to try to do something right. Anything right.
But then I heard these horrible things about myself and all I could do was sit there and rock and cry and realize how true they are....
Right now, I'm doing very little to help myself because I feel helpless and hopelessly lost. I have zero energy, I'm so overwhelmed. All my own creation, I know, but Dear God....some compassion would be nice. Just to know that after five years, he still sees some beauty and potential in me.
I've hurt people - people I didn't intend to hurt, but did. I don't know why I did. I have no reason...no explanation, although I'm sure - deep down - there is a reason or two. Perhaps that's my way of pushing people away. I think partly it's because "well, if he'd abandon me, so will you, so fuck you. I won't give you the chance - I'll leave you first!" Who knows? But it's mine to own.
All of this pulls my past into my present and I react from there. I don't know how to stop or control it.
I wish I did... I hate my life the way it is right now, on so many levels.
I am sorry to those I've hurt. The shame I feel over this is profound, and I know an apology is not enough. I'm not a hurtful person, at my core.
At my core, I am a compassionate, giving, loving, affectionate, attentive person. People who've known me for years, know this.
But my core is in defense mode now, covered by the ugly that is me. The ugly that is my life. The ugly that keeps surfacing through this "healing" journey.
My life is a wreck - all caused by me. For the past four weeks, I've been volatile and unpredictable because of this pain I'm in over this break-up. I don't know how to handle it. I keep having nightmares about him.
So then I go drink (alone, by the water) and it helps...
But sometimes it brings out the worst, although I don't have to be drinking for my worst to come out and usually the worst only comes out when he's here, in reaction to feeling abandoned (that's not an excuse).
Some of my sins:
- Vile words/texts to others out of rage.
- Violent outbursts - including grabbing him, grabbing his shirt, demanding to know why he gave up, why he left me.
- Shoving the mattress off the bed and ripping the sheets off (in my mind, I was preventing another woman from sleeping in our bed).
- Sarcasm
- Some would say I have excuses for all these things.
- Some would even say I'm writing this "for affect"
- Pushing others away
- Not letting anyone in
- Suicide ideation
- Cutting
- Drinking too much, to numb and escape
This morning we talked and he told me - again - what a vile person I am. He didn't use those exact words, but he told me some pretty hurtful things, including "I don't care about you" and he doesn't love me. These words cut me more than anything. And, to make it worse, it was my fault. My fault that he no longer cares for or loves me. He says I lie to myself and to everyone, and he can't believe a word I say. It's like four good years of our five years together is gone...never existed. He said not one kind thing about me...or to me. He even said he's "waiting for the opportunity [to call the cops on me]"
Oh God...
All of this is my fault. Everything. I don't know how to handle any emotions so it all just comes out as rage... I don't know what else to do. So on top of that, I have to deal with knowing that everything is my fault.
This makes me think of daddy..... makes me angry, makes me hurt more than anything. The anger comes out at Gary or (a couple times) Carolyn or my oldest son or whomever is in firing range - but the hurt...I cry sitting here now, thinking about how the things my father and the many other men did to me, have led me to this and how everyone expects me to just get over it...and I'm trying. I'm trying so hard, and I was told to embrace the people who are there and who love me and care and want me to heal but I don't believe that. I don't believe anyone can love or care or help. I never have. How can someone like me ever be loved?
See Attachment Disorder.When you go through what I went through as an infant and toddler, it happens.
Sounds like a big pity party, doesn't it?
It's not. It's the truth of how it feels to have your wreck of a life, thrown in your face without any compassion for the things that have gotten you there to begin with. You're already walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders - already trying to save face, already trying to fake it...trying to matter... trying to ignore the enormous shame and guilt and filth that lives inside you - and then someone comes along and shames you, guilts you and makes you feel even more filthy.
I wanted, this morning, to tell him he's a good friend...wanted to try to do something right. Anything right.
But then I heard these horrible things about myself and all I could do was sit there and rock and cry and realize how true they are....
Right now, I'm doing very little to help myself because I feel helpless and hopelessly lost. I have zero energy, I'm so overwhelmed. All my own creation, I know, but Dear God....some compassion would be nice. Just to know that after five years, he still sees some beauty and potential in me.
I've hurt people - people I didn't intend to hurt, but did. I don't know why I did. I have no reason...no explanation, although I'm sure - deep down - there is a reason or two. Perhaps that's my way of pushing people away. I think partly it's because "well, if he'd abandon me, so will you, so fuck you. I won't give you the chance - I'll leave you first!" Who knows? But it's mine to own.
All of this pulls my past into my present and I react from there. I don't know how to stop or control it.
I wish I did... I hate my life the way it is right now, on so many levels.
I am sorry to those I've hurt. The shame I feel over this is profound, and I know an apology is not enough. I'm not a hurtful person, at my core.
At my core, I am a compassionate, giving, loving, affectionate, attentive person. People who've known me for years, know this.
But my core is in defense mode now, covered by the ugly that is me. The ugly that is my life. The ugly that keeps surfacing through this "healing" journey.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Relationships with DID/PTSD, incest and rape survivors
There's a book called Allies In Healing that's written specifically for partners of victims of childhood sexual abuse.It's an easy-to-read, Q&A format.
One of the questions is [paraphrasing], "Ask yourself if you're ready to be in a relationship with someone who's going through the healing process."
I'm going to tell you something: The healing process is ugly and it gets worse before it gets better. It's confusing, painful, irrational, illogical and it's definitely not like getting over spankings from when you were a kid. There are outbursts, there's rage, there's profound pain, sometimes directed at you - the partner - who is the only outlet there is.
Another of the questions in the book [paraphrasing once again] is, "When will I have my [partner] back?"
This is a good question but there's no solid answer because it honestly depends on a lot of different things: the kind of help your partner is getting, their age, their knowledge, the extent of their abuse, the extent of their willingness to delve deeper and deeper into their own pain. For awhile, it seems like everything is about them and it is...at least, for them. So it seems like you've lost your partner.
You haven't.
Your partner is doing some horrifically challenging work that requires more energy than cutting an acre lawn with fingernail clippers in 120-degree heat. It's hard, hard work.
From personal experience, I can tell you that assuring your partner you'll be there through the journey with her, and then bailing when it gets ugly, does more harm to an already wounded soul. It's better to break it off early, to understand what you're facing (possible self-injury, flashbacks, nightmares/night terrors, panic attacks, unpredictable triggers, etc.). Your partner will also probably try out every possible coping skill they know, including cutting, binging, drinking, substance abuse, and a host of other things, before they are taught - through therapy and continued work - that there are healthy ways to cope. During this time, your partner won't know who or what to trust...for them, it's like trying to learn to walk all over again, but with leg braces and pain.
It's better to get to know about these things and then say, "I don't think I can do this," in the beginning, than to wait when your partner is most vulnerable and then quit on them. It's like being abandoned all over again. It's a horrid, wretched, terrible feeling that undoes a lot of work your partner has already done.
With PTSD, here's what happens: You may say, do, act, smell, or otherwise do something that triggers a subconscious memory for your partner, and boom! Out of the blue, without either of you knowing it, you're being screamed at, or they've shut down completely, or they go into panic mode, or they self-injure. This is not your fault and is not aimed at you, nor is it your partner's fault. It is a Post-Traumatic response, triggered by the amygdala in the brain that stores memories, and it's hair-trigger quick. That's why I say it's not your partner's fault: They don't even know what's happening until it's happening and they won't know how to stop it until they've gotten through the crisis stage (more about the crisis stage can be read in the book The Courage To Heal). The crisis stage can last anywhere from weeks to months to years. Again, I believe it depends on a lot of the same categories as mentioned above.
With DID, sometimes different "parts" (or "alters") emerge out of sheer protection mode, when feeling threatened and the partner will black out - not remember - what was said or what happened (please note that DID is not as dramatic as the media and movies has portrayed it. Some people describe "switching" as a simple mood swing because it can be so well-hidden). This sounds irregular - and it is - but it's a natural structure and function of the brain for someone who's experienced complex trauma, especially as a child. Please be compassionate when this happens. Again, it's not personal. These "parts" were a brilliant, creative way for your partner to survive unbearable abuse and to protect them from experiencing the pain of it.
I read - I'm not sure where - that very few relationships survive this stage. I was certain, though, that my partner and I would make it. He read the book, Allies in Healing, and assured me he would not leave.
Unfortunately, that turned out to not be the case - the same as in many, many other books and autobiographies of survivors I've read. It's a sad plight, a sad and vicious cycle that makes partners the secondary victims of the abuse suffered by the survivor. It is, after all, difficult to see someone you once loved, crumple and crumble into something you never thought you'd see. I understand this, but leaving them when they're crumpled and crumbled and far from their best, is less healthy and helpful for them, than it is if you do it in the beginning.
Some tips:
Please.
One of the questions is [paraphrasing], "Ask yourself if you're ready to be in a relationship with someone who's going through the healing process."
I'm going to tell you something: The healing process is ugly and it gets worse before it gets better. It's confusing, painful, irrational, illogical and it's definitely not like getting over spankings from when you were a kid. There are outbursts, there's rage, there's profound pain, sometimes directed at you - the partner - who is the only outlet there is.
Another of the questions in the book [paraphrasing once again] is, "When will I have my [partner] back?"
This is a good question but there's no solid answer because it honestly depends on a lot of different things: the kind of help your partner is getting, their age, their knowledge, the extent of their abuse, the extent of their willingness to delve deeper and deeper into their own pain. For awhile, it seems like everything is about them and it is...at least, for them. So it seems like you've lost your partner.
You haven't.
Your partner is doing some horrifically challenging work that requires more energy than cutting an acre lawn with fingernail clippers in 120-degree heat. It's hard, hard work.
From personal experience, I can tell you that assuring your partner you'll be there through the journey with her, and then bailing when it gets ugly, does more harm to an already wounded soul. It's better to break it off early, to understand what you're facing (possible self-injury, flashbacks, nightmares/night terrors, panic attacks, unpredictable triggers, etc.). Your partner will also probably try out every possible coping skill they know, including cutting, binging, drinking, substance abuse, and a host of other things, before they are taught - through therapy and continued work - that there are healthy ways to cope. During this time, your partner won't know who or what to trust...for them, it's like trying to learn to walk all over again, but with leg braces and pain.
It's better to get to know about these things and then say, "I don't think I can do this," in the beginning, than to wait when your partner is most vulnerable and then quit on them. It's like being abandoned all over again. It's a horrid, wretched, terrible feeling that undoes a lot of work your partner has already done.
With PTSD, here's what happens: You may say, do, act, smell, or otherwise do something that triggers a subconscious memory for your partner, and boom! Out of the blue, without either of you knowing it, you're being screamed at, or they've shut down completely, or they go into panic mode, or they self-injure. This is not your fault and is not aimed at you, nor is it your partner's fault. It is a Post-Traumatic response, triggered by the amygdala in the brain that stores memories, and it's hair-trigger quick. That's why I say it's not your partner's fault: They don't even know what's happening until it's happening and they won't know how to stop it until they've gotten through the crisis stage (more about the crisis stage can be read in the book The Courage To Heal). The crisis stage can last anywhere from weeks to months to years. Again, I believe it depends on a lot of the same categories as mentioned above.
With DID, sometimes different "parts" (or "alters") emerge out of sheer protection mode, when feeling threatened and the partner will black out - not remember - what was said or what happened (please note that DID is not as dramatic as the media and movies has portrayed it. Some people describe "switching" as a simple mood swing because it can be so well-hidden). This sounds irregular - and it is - but it's a natural structure and function of the brain for someone who's experienced complex trauma, especially as a child. Please be compassionate when this happens. Again, it's not personal. These "parts" were a brilliant, creative way for your partner to survive unbearable abuse and to protect them from experiencing the pain of it.
I read - I'm not sure where - that very few relationships survive this stage. I was certain, though, that my partner and I would make it. He read the book, Allies in Healing, and assured me he would not leave.
Unfortunately, that turned out to not be the case - the same as in many, many other books and autobiographies of survivors I've read. It's a sad plight, a sad and vicious cycle that makes partners the secondary victims of the abuse suffered by the survivor. It is, after all, difficult to see someone you once loved, crumple and crumble into something you never thought you'd see. I understand this, but leaving them when they're crumpled and crumbled and far from their best, is less healthy and helpful for them, than it is if you do it in the beginning.
Some tips:
- Be compassionate - don't do things you know are going to trigger your partner, especially if you're breaking up because emotions are all out of control for a survivor in crisis mode.
- Remember - Remember that this person who is now completely different from the one who you met and fell in love with, is still the same person, just going through an inhuman amount of pain.
- Be patient - Know that the break-up is going to add salt to a gaping wound that's been opened by the work they've been doing. It's going to be un-utterably painful for them. Obviously it will be difficult for you, as well, but referring to tip number one, remember they're the ones in the crisis stage.
- Be discrete - Don't go out telling all your friends that you're breaking up with your partner because of all the problems she has, or - worse - tell everyone/anyone about the problems she's going through. A survivors journey is extremely personal and sharing it with anyone is a horrible betrayal.
- Be rational - Know that this person who is going through the crisis stage and reacting to your leaving, is reacting from a place of a deep wound. They are, however, still capable of love and understanding, if treated with dignity, respect and compassion. For the most part, they're not going to go out and cause a scene, rob you, steal from you, stalk you or otherwise harm you as long as you - you the one not going through the crisis stage - can keep these things in mind.
- Be honest - Remember you're the one who promised to stay, promised not to leave them as they went through this journey and then - just like they experienced probably many times before - you decided to abandon them in the midst of a crisis, when they believed in you. Although this is sadly understandable, it is wholly unkind and unfair to the survivor. They now have fresh feelings of shame, guilt, humiliation, and abandonment they have to deal with on top of what they're already coping with.
Please.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)