My name is Cristina D. Johnson
Had another nightmare about "him" last night. Third night in a row, only last night I woke up crying.
There are good things happening, of course. I mean I have the help and support of some wonderful people.
Therapy's been tough because of the concept of boundaries and relationships. I suppose it all goes back to living in that black-and-white world. Yes or no. No gray.
In therapy, though, it's obvious that things are out of whack here at home. My new apartment is beautiful. I have an antiquated kitchen but it's super roomy. All wood floors (except the living room) and I have a dining room, living room, and upstairs I have two bedrooms and a bathroom and then, upstairs (where I am now) is my private space - my 'writing room' as I call it - and outside each window is nothing but trees and green. The breeze blows through the windows and I hear the rustle of the leaves and it should be soothing.
But I feel like I'm in limbo - I feel as if I have lived here now for about two months and I haven't exhaled. So much is uncertain and I sometimes feel like I'm being taken for granted (hence the conversation about boundaries in therapy).
Part of my apprehension is knowing "he" has the power to take it away from me and he knows it, too. I would like to think he wouldn't be so cruel, but then again, if history is any indication, there's really no limit to the cruelty so who knows? I don't know..... I feel so stupid.
Bill helps me a lot. We talk every day: morning, lunch time and after he gets off work. He swears he's not going to let me go again. There's something very powerful in hearing him say those things. Not that he only says those things, but he says other things - beautiful things - and he's absolutely wonderful to Trevor, who adores him.
Bill knows I question my relationships now - an unfortunate truth - and he says he's glad I do this. I am grateful for that space - for that lenience and compassion. He's the only one who truly saw the every-day struggle I went through after the break-up so he knows how deep it goes. During those days and nights, he nursed me so gently. I will never, ever forget this.
Yet at the same time, I can't help but feel this timeless kind of love for him. It's always been that way between us. Very unconditional. Very honest. In many ways, he raised the bar as far as relationships go. In many ways, "the other guy" never would or could measure up, even though - to his credit - he had some redeeming qualities.
I have yet to call it home. It's "the house" or "the apartment" and Michelle (my therapist) says that's because everything is still unsettled. (Also I have Bill's cat - Snowball - and I'm not supposed to have animals so I'm scared of that and not sure how to handle it yet).
Michelle says we can't even get into trauma work until my life is no longer stressful and in crisis. She's right. I can't even think right now. Just scared of everything.
Most of the time in my life - in the past - I have not had to worry like this. Things just were, what they were and I never expected to have a home - always expected to be abandoned or kicked out or whatever. But now that I'm trying so hard to actually have a home, I am terrified of losing it.
Everything is in limbo and my back sometimes feels like it could snap.
Showing posts with label crisis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crisis. Show all posts
Friday, September 14, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Oh the Irony (lesson learned)
My name is Cristina D. Johnson
I wrote "It's All About Image" yesterday and - at the time - it felt so damn good to have my say. It felt so good, to tell my side, to share my pain and to elaborate on things that I'm sure were never shared during "his" many nightly escapades.
But one thing I am, is introspective and this morning it occurred to me that by writing that blog, I was doing exactly what I was accusing him of doing: protecting my image.
Even though the blog was sincere and I was sincerely angry and felt betrayed by a number of people, the bigger part of me knows that writing it was wrong and some of the things I said were things I shouldn't have.
The bigger part of me knows things I won't ever repeat about him, and also knows that I loved him - still do - and that's what hurts, but it's easier to just be angry. The truth is, I am still reeling, still stunned, and still devastated. I've been in what they call the "crisis stage" for a little over a year, and having the additional crisis of a break-up on top of it, was literally sickening. My heart was so broken. He'd promised....and broke my trust and it hurt so much and then he left me there, alone, talking to others about me, and the only thing I could do was be angry, although I cried...oh God I cried ...and still do.
So there I was blogging about image, in a vain attempt to protect my own image which, in my mind, is destroyed by the things he said about me to God-only-knows who. I am terrified to go anywhere or see anyone because of the events of the past several weeks and because of the crisis stage I'm already going through.
So in writing "It's All About Image" I was wrong and though it felt good to rid myself of some of the toxicity inside of me that's been eating me alive, it was not really me being true to myself, and honestly it was dishonoring at least some of what was good - there were a few good times. A few.
I am still not convinced that he ever loved me. Perhaps this is my issue, but perhaps it is true that he didn't. I have my own theories on this but he - on a few occasions (though not many) - showed some tenderness and I won't forget that.
But I will never, ever forget how painful the betrayals were, either.
Bare and open - here I am. Hurt beyond words, devastated, crushed and feeling so deeply betrayed and still in love with him - this man who's seeing someone else and who hurt me so deeply in ways he will never fathom.
My image is this: I am afraid and I feel alone, save for a couple of very good people who are helping me through this stage, although I tend to keep things in a lot because it is my tendency to hide. I am disappointed by the number of "friends" who walked away... just gave up... yet I'm not surprised. I am afraid to be seen by anyone, anywhere and I spend a lot of time preoccupied, confused, sometimes triggered, sometimes terrified for reasons I don't understand. I can't look at myself in the mirror - I am ashamed of who I am and how I look and I feel very awkward in social situations so I fake it.
I am so wounded, so hurt...and it all came out as anger in my last blog. I am so scared because I took it upon myself to tell everyone on FB about my story - at least in brief - and took the risk of sharing. The fear of that- fear of rejection and humiliation and judgment - is very, very big. So my image is out there....here I am.
I wrote "It's All About Image" yesterday and - at the time - it felt so damn good to have my say. It felt so good, to tell my side, to share my pain and to elaborate on things that I'm sure were never shared during "his" many nightly escapades.
But one thing I am, is introspective and this morning it occurred to me that by writing that blog, I was doing exactly what I was accusing him of doing: protecting my image.
Even though the blog was sincere and I was sincerely angry and felt betrayed by a number of people, the bigger part of me knows that writing it was wrong and some of the things I said were things I shouldn't have.
The bigger part of me knows things I won't ever repeat about him, and also knows that I loved him - still do - and that's what hurts, but it's easier to just be angry. The truth is, I am still reeling, still stunned, and still devastated. I've been in what they call the "crisis stage" for a little over a year, and having the additional crisis of a break-up on top of it, was literally sickening. My heart was so broken. He'd promised....and broke my trust and it hurt so much and then he left me there, alone, talking to others about me, and the only thing I could do was be angry, although I cried...oh God I cried ...and still do.
So there I was blogging about image, in a vain attempt to protect my own image which, in my mind, is destroyed by the things he said about me to God-only-knows who. I am terrified to go anywhere or see anyone because of the events of the past several weeks and because of the crisis stage I'm already going through.
So in writing "It's All About Image" I was wrong and though it felt good to rid myself of some of the toxicity inside of me that's been eating me alive, it was not really me being true to myself, and honestly it was dishonoring at least some of what was good - there were a few good times. A few.
I am still not convinced that he ever loved me. Perhaps this is my issue, but perhaps it is true that he didn't. I have my own theories on this but he - on a few occasions (though not many) - showed some tenderness and I won't forget that.
But I will never, ever forget how painful the betrayals were, either.
Bare and open - here I am. Hurt beyond words, devastated, crushed and feeling so deeply betrayed and still in love with him - this man who's seeing someone else and who hurt me so deeply in ways he will never fathom.
My image is this: I am afraid and I feel alone, save for a couple of very good people who are helping me through this stage, although I tend to keep things in a lot because it is my tendency to hide. I am disappointed by the number of "friends" who walked away... just gave up... yet I'm not surprised. I am afraid to be seen by anyone, anywhere and I spend a lot of time preoccupied, confused, sometimes triggered, sometimes terrified for reasons I don't understand. I can't look at myself in the mirror - I am ashamed of who I am and how I look and I feel very awkward in social situations so I fake it.
I am so wounded, so hurt...and it all came out as anger in my last blog. I am so scared because I took it upon myself to tell everyone on FB about my story - at least in brief - and took the risk of sharing. The fear of that- fear of rejection and humiliation and judgment - is very, very big. So my image is out there....here I am.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
It's All About Image
My name is Cristina D. Johnson
This is an angry blog. Just a forewarning.
Woke up this morning with text messages from "him" - bouncing back and forth between being nice and being an ass. I was immediately triggered.
I have never, ever in my entire life had a single human being trigger me as instantaneously as he does.
I know why that is, too.
For about eight weeks, we were still living together. We would bounce back and forth between deciding whether or not to work it out, or whether or not splitting was the best choice. He would say, "You're the one who said you were done," never realizing he made it impossible for me to stay.
Then...he would go out. Not only would he go out, but he would tell people my private business. I was horrified beyond belief. I couldn't believe he would betray my trust - my deepest trust - in such a way. But he was very clever about it. He "told just a few people" (which means anyone, really) knowing damned good and well that these towns talk - everyone talks. Never using any common sense or decency, always without regard for my own dignity.
Oh God how it hurt. I've been writing my entire life and I can't think of a single word (or set of words) that can adequately describe the pain I was going through. The lies he told me - how he misled me about the wedding and instead took my "friend" "L" (who, incidentally is apparently not much of a friend since she hasn't even once contacted me to see how I'm doing. Instead she hangs out on his boat or goes out with him). He made me feel like the lowest form of life by telling me lies, and then going behind my back. He blew things out of proportion, made himself look like a super hero and divulged everything from my issues to my financial situation to people whose business it was none of, nor was it his right to do so. Especially to an incest survivor. OH MY GOD the things I'd shared!! I was beyond terrified. And nobody checked on me. They just took his word for it - poor, poor him. The victim, the savior. Oh he made himself look like the real hero and me...well I was just nothing. As I always had been.
I attempted suicide. I was in crisis. It's not uncommon for people with my disorders. Neither is a lot of stuff - cutting, binging, drinking, drugs, etc. but the triggering...Dear God, every night he would trigger me, telling me he was going out, knowing it would trigger me and then carelessly walking away.
(Definition: Anything that brings about a symptom of PTSD. For example, a news story about the Iraq War may cause a veteran with PTSD to have thoughts and memories about the war. Triggers may include people, places, sounds, words, and/or smells. Source: http://ptsd.about.com/od/glossary/g/triggerdef.htm)
That about sums it up.
Being abandoned, being cheated on, being lied to, being talked about behind my back and then being told - when I asked - no, begged - him to please stop talking about me.
"You're just trying to control who I talk to and what I say," he would respond angrily. "It's my life."
"No, it's my information and my private business that I'm asking you not to share."
"It's none of your goddamn business who I talk to or what I say," he said one night.
He would say and do things, knowing they were going to trigger me and when the panic attacks came on, he would causally walk away, go out to his van, and go party - pretending his life was perfect as I sat alone in the house, mortified, horrified, embarrassed to be seen by anyone.
That was one of the most insidious aspects of his telling people (and of him telling me that people were talking about me): He never would tell me who he told what, and who said what so I was there, like a nothing. I had no importance, ever. I was nothing....just something to gossip about and he being him, would do all he could to protect his image. Because, after all, it's all about image.
He's not the person people think he is. He went out and made himself out to be a victim - which, in a way, he was; a secondary victim of my abuse and at times of my own verbal abuse.
When he would trigger me, I would become irrationally angry. Actually, it was profound pain that was misplaced (being triggered brings back feelings, memories, sensations, etc. from your past) and the only way I knew to react was by anger because that's what happens when you grow up on the streets: you fight.
I was also living in complete disbelief. How could someone who said they loved me, do this to me? How could he? I wasn't unreasonable - I was trying to get out as soon as I possibly could because it hurt to be there - but I asked him to please, please just wait until I'm gone before you start going out. Please.
Nope.
So it got to the point where even hearing his footsteps or his early-morning coughing was sending shockwaves through my body. I was uncontrollably triggered and stuck.
"You can go out if you want," he would say, never considering how mortified I was that he told everyone my personal business. He even told people he fixed my car for me, never divulging the fact that it was OUR car and it broke down because of OUR use and should have been fixed at least a year ago. It just so happened to be in my name. So he made sure he looked good. Made sure everyone knew how much he loved me.
We can see that now, can't we? As he takes his new gf out on his fancy boat (which he cannot afford)? Yeah he loved me alright.
No....if love bit him twice in the ass he wouldn't know what it was.
Because, for him, when love gets complicated, it's too much.
So then he starts accusing me of being violent. Violent because I would grab the front of his shirt and cry and plead and beg, "Why are you leaving me? You said you wouldn't leave me! Why are you giving up on me!? You said you never would leave me!" ...this, is violence, for which he would call the cops on me if I ever did it again. (another huge trigger of mine, btw, being a child of the system - and a trigger he's well aware of).
In this morning's text messages, he flipped back and forth between being nice and being not-so-nice, even with a veiled threat about how if [my blog] begins to effect him, he'll handle it then.
Well, here I am - being real. Spread out wide open, everyone knows my secrets and my sins. Everyone knows my shame, now, because I chose to tell it - not because someone with no morals or sense of loyalty decided to spread it around. Because for me, it's no longer all about image.
It's about being real - and I'm being real.
Nothing in my blog is a lie, distortion or exaggeration.
I was so thrown off today just by his text messages this morning that the entire day was a trigger until I was exhausted.
I laid down and fell asleep, only to have a nightmare about him. Him and his brother.
They were being so cruel in my dream - heartless, cruel, vicious.
Control. Image.
It's all about that, isn't it?
Image?
What a fool I was to fall into that trap - to drown myself in this pool of high fa-looting, the-world-is-my-oyster, pretending to be someone and something I wasn't. And why? To live up to his expectations?
Well, who the hell is HE? A cheater, a liar, a fake? And *I* was trying to live up to HIS expectations?
But when the going got tough and I needed him more than anything in the world, he fled - to another woman (which he admitted to, but now denies) and is now seeing, (surely just coincidence).
Then...out of nowhere, came friends and supporters - people who aren't so obsessed with their image. People who've either been there or understand or want to help or want to be friends with me or want to help me.
I discovered in this process - this process of coming out and telling my truth and being real- who my friends truly are. Painfully, I also learned who, among those I've known for five years now, are not.
I could go on and talk about the REAL person I know - the reality of his life but he has to live with himself. He must be exhausted - just like I was - holding up such a fake facade, living up to others' expectations, trying to be something he isn't.
But unlike him - I have empathy. I pity him, despite the fact that he is the single most biggest trigger of any person ever in my life. I have never, ever been triggered by anyone as much as him - mostly because of the deliberate and intentional pain he put me through. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Wonderful. Oh but if people only knew the truth...
This is the end of my angry blog and I must say that in the past five years I've met two amazing people - R & R - father and daughter. Dad R is so authentic and lovely, wonderful and fantastic and daughter R is the same. To them I say: I miss you. I always authentically loved you both.
This is an angry blog. Just a forewarning.
Woke up this morning with text messages from "him" - bouncing back and forth between being nice and being an ass. I was immediately triggered.
I have never, ever in my entire life had a single human being trigger me as instantaneously as he does.
I know why that is, too.
For about eight weeks, we were still living together. We would bounce back and forth between deciding whether or not to work it out, or whether or not splitting was the best choice. He would say, "You're the one who said you were done," never realizing he made it impossible for me to stay.
Then...he would go out. Not only would he go out, but he would tell people my private business. I was horrified beyond belief. I couldn't believe he would betray my trust - my deepest trust - in such a way. But he was very clever about it. He "told just a few people" (which means anyone, really) knowing damned good and well that these towns talk - everyone talks. Never using any common sense or decency, always without regard for my own dignity.
Oh God how it hurt. I've been writing my entire life and I can't think of a single word (or set of words) that can adequately describe the pain I was going through. The lies he told me - how he misled me about the wedding and instead took my "friend" "L" (who, incidentally is apparently not much of a friend since she hasn't even once contacted me to see how I'm doing. Instead she hangs out on his boat or goes out with him). He made me feel like the lowest form of life by telling me lies, and then going behind my back. He blew things out of proportion, made himself look like a super hero and divulged everything from my issues to my financial situation to people whose business it was none of, nor was it his right to do so. Especially to an incest survivor. OH MY GOD the things I'd shared!! I was beyond terrified. And nobody checked on me. They just took his word for it - poor, poor him. The victim, the savior. Oh he made himself look like the real hero and me...well I was just nothing. As I always had been.
I attempted suicide. I was in crisis. It's not uncommon for people with my disorders. Neither is a lot of stuff - cutting, binging, drinking, drugs, etc. but the triggering...Dear God, every night he would trigger me, telling me he was going out, knowing it would trigger me and then carelessly walking away.
(Definition: Anything that brings about a symptom of PTSD. For example, a news story about the Iraq War may cause a veteran with PTSD to have thoughts and memories about the war. Triggers may include people, places, sounds, words, and/or smells. Source: http://ptsd.about.com/od/glossary/g/triggerdef.htm)
That about sums it up.
Being abandoned, being cheated on, being lied to, being talked about behind my back and then being told - when I asked - no, begged - him to please stop talking about me.
"You're just trying to control who I talk to and what I say," he would respond angrily. "It's my life."
"No, it's my information and my private business that I'm asking you not to share."
"It's none of your goddamn business who I talk to or what I say," he said one night.
He would say and do things, knowing they were going to trigger me and when the panic attacks came on, he would causally walk away, go out to his van, and go party - pretending his life was perfect as I sat alone in the house, mortified, horrified, embarrassed to be seen by anyone.
That was one of the most insidious aspects of his telling people (and of him telling me that people were talking about me): He never would tell me who he told what, and who said what so I was there, like a nothing. I had no importance, ever. I was nothing....just something to gossip about and he being him, would do all he could to protect his image. Because, after all, it's all about image.
He's not the person people think he is. He went out and made himself out to be a victim - which, in a way, he was; a secondary victim of my abuse and at times of my own verbal abuse.
When he would trigger me, I would become irrationally angry. Actually, it was profound pain that was misplaced (being triggered brings back feelings, memories, sensations, etc. from your past) and the only way I knew to react was by anger because that's what happens when you grow up on the streets: you fight.
I was also living in complete disbelief. How could someone who said they loved me, do this to me? How could he? I wasn't unreasonable - I was trying to get out as soon as I possibly could because it hurt to be there - but I asked him to please, please just wait until I'm gone before you start going out. Please.
Nope.
So it got to the point where even hearing his footsteps or his early-morning coughing was sending shockwaves through my body. I was uncontrollably triggered and stuck.
"You can go out if you want," he would say, never considering how mortified I was that he told everyone my personal business. He even told people he fixed my car for me, never divulging the fact that it was OUR car and it broke down because of OUR use and should have been fixed at least a year ago. It just so happened to be in my name. So he made sure he looked good. Made sure everyone knew how much he loved me.
We can see that now, can't we? As he takes his new gf out on his fancy boat (which he cannot afford)? Yeah he loved me alright.
No....if love bit him twice in the ass he wouldn't know what it was.
Because, for him, when love gets complicated, it's too much.
So then he starts accusing me of being violent. Violent because I would grab the front of his shirt and cry and plead and beg, "Why are you leaving me? You said you wouldn't leave me! Why are you giving up on me!? You said you never would leave me!" ...this, is violence, for which he would call the cops on me if I ever did it again. (another huge trigger of mine, btw, being a child of the system - and a trigger he's well aware of).
In this morning's text messages, he flipped back and forth between being nice and being not-so-nice, even with a veiled threat about how if [my blog] begins to effect him, he'll handle it then.
Well, here I am - being real. Spread out wide open, everyone knows my secrets and my sins. Everyone knows my shame, now, because I chose to tell it - not because someone with no morals or sense of loyalty decided to spread it around. Because for me, it's no longer all about image.
It's about being real - and I'm being real.
Nothing in my blog is a lie, distortion or exaggeration.
I was so thrown off today just by his text messages this morning that the entire day was a trigger until I was exhausted.
I laid down and fell asleep, only to have a nightmare about him. Him and his brother.
They were being so cruel in my dream - heartless, cruel, vicious.
Control. Image.
It's all about that, isn't it?
Image?
What a fool I was to fall into that trap - to drown myself in this pool of high fa-looting, the-world-is-my-oyster, pretending to be someone and something I wasn't. And why? To live up to his expectations?
Well, who the hell is HE? A cheater, a liar, a fake? And *I* was trying to live up to HIS expectations?
But when the going got tough and I needed him more than anything in the world, he fled - to another woman (which he admitted to, but now denies) and is now seeing, (surely just coincidence).
Then...out of nowhere, came friends and supporters - people who aren't so obsessed with their image. People who've either been there or understand or want to help or want to be friends with me or want to help me.
I discovered in this process - this process of coming out and telling my truth and being real- who my friends truly are. Painfully, I also learned who, among those I've known for five years now, are not.
I could go on and talk about the REAL person I know - the reality of his life but he has to live with himself. He must be exhausted - just like I was - holding up such a fake facade, living up to others' expectations, trying to be something he isn't.
But unlike him - I have empathy. I pity him, despite the fact that he is the single most biggest trigger of any person ever in my life. I have never, ever been triggered by anyone as much as him - mostly because of the deliberate and intentional pain he put me through. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Wonderful. Oh but if people only knew the truth...
This is the end of my angry blog and I must say that in the past five years I've met two amazing people - R & R - father and daughter. Dad R is so authentic and lovely, wonderful and fantastic and daughter R is the same. To them I say: I miss you. I always authentically loved you both.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Compassion for Incest Survivors
Yesterday I went to my spot with the intention of getting some sun. It's by the water so you can sit on the dock, get a good breeze and get some sun. The back yard is like a jungle with no breeze - no way was I going out there.
I knew there was a possibility that Gary might go by on his boat, but I could handle it (at least that's what I told myself).
For weeks, we've had this argument about how my personal business is my business, and nobody else's unless I choose to tell them. He disagrees and has repeatedly said, "people are compassionate, they care...yada yada...." and has also said it's none of my goddamn business what he tells others.
So yesterday, I'm sitting at my spot, getting some sun and some of those "compassionate" people came and rafted up right in front of me. Three boats on which I used to party along with the rest of them (and usually cook something because that was my way of fitting in). Not one waved. Not one single person waved. Boaters wave at everyone. But not one of them waved to me, never mind said "Hi! How are you?"
I just sat there rocking and crying intermittently.
That's the damage that happens when people tell your private business - all the way down to "what is she going to do? [now that we're breaking up and I'm not working]" - which is nobody's business. It's my business to tell, not his, and the appropriate answer is "I don't want to talk about her."
Because he shouldn't. Not only because he shouldn't, but because he has no discretion at all and just tells everything.
People do not have compassion for survivors of incest. I talked with my therapist about this last Friday and she agreed - most people don't have the capacity to handle it. People in her professional field sometimes even have problems with it, although she did say most other incest survivors have compassion.
To me, it's common sense because I've experienced it my whole life - the looks, the awkward tension, the way they gradually back away as soon as they find out. And they definitely don't want to talk about it or hear about it. In this way, it is an us-vs.-them kind of world that he doesn't understand. Survivors of incest have certain things broken - often as very young children - that results in phobias and behaviors that others simply don't understand - can't understand.
Compassion would be finding out - asking questions and listening to the answers. It would be waving when you see one, instead of pretending they're not there and it would be getting their side of the story, instead of sitting in judgment and ridicule.
My problem is I tried living here - in this place, among these people. I believed I was making a better life for myself and for my son. I truly believed I was moving up in the world.
I was really just moving farther and farther away from my abuse. Hiding behind multiple masks doing, as my therapist said, whatever I could to be liked. Nobody here was really my friend, even though Gary has said for years that they were. It's quite obvious now, that they weren't and aren't.
All these years, I was trying to be something I'm not - faking it. Gary recently told me (in his defense of talking about me behind my back) "People see you no matter what mask you wear." and I wonder what he meant by that because during my last session I literally sobbed, wracking sobs, over my fear that people would see the ugly inside of me and she said, "Nobody knows but you."
That's not true anymore, though. Now it's true - my biggest, greatest fear, my greatest shame is now out there like a fucking newspaper for everyone to read, and he gets to be writer, editor and publisher.
So cruel, so heartless, so callous and careless.
I remember one time when he referred to a woman at the marina as a "Crack Whore" and I was astonished and I chewed him out for it. He admitted he was wrong to say such a thing but he did - he said it - which shows the level of compassion in this place where I was trying so hard to fit in.
It wasn't long ago that I ripped my necklace from my throat and threw it because I felt so stupid for "dressing up" - stupid, stupid, stupid, I kept telling myself. Who do you think you are, to try to fit in?? Everyone sees it! Everyone knows you're a fake! A FREAK!
I sat on the edge of the bed and cried, thinking all these horrible things about myself.
Gary got angry with me. No compassion, just anger.
That's how much compassion there is in this town...in this state...in this world.
I knew there was a possibility that Gary might go by on his boat, but I could handle it (at least that's what I told myself).
For weeks, we've had this argument about how my personal business is my business, and nobody else's unless I choose to tell them. He disagrees and has repeatedly said, "people are compassionate, they care...yada yada...." and has also said it's none of my goddamn business what he tells others.
So yesterday, I'm sitting at my spot, getting some sun and some of those "compassionate" people came and rafted up right in front of me. Three boats on which I used to party along with the rest of them (and usually cook something because that was my way of fitting in). Not one waved. Not one single person waved. Boaters wave at everyone. But not one of them waved to me, never mind said "Hi! How are you?"
I just sat there rocking and crying intermittently.
That's the damage that happens when people tell your private business - all the way down to "what is she going to do? [now that we're breaking up and I'm not working]" - which is nobody's business. It's my business to tell, not his, and the appropriate answer is "I don't want to talk about her."
Because he shouldn't. Not only because he shouldn't, but because he has no discretion at all and just tells everything.
People do not have compassion for survivors of incest. I talked with my therapist about this last Friday and she agreed - most people don't have the capacity to handle it. People in her professional field sometimes even have problems with it, although she did say most other incest survivors have compassion.
To me, it's common sense because I've experienced it my whole life - the looks, the awkward tension, the way they gradually back away as soon as they find out. And they definitely don't want to talk about it or hear about it. In this way, it is an us-vs.-them kind of world that he doesn't understand. Survivors of incest have certain things broken - often as very young children - that results in phobias and behaviors that others simply don't understand - can't understand.
Compassion would be finding out - asking questions and listening to the answers. It would be waving when you see one, instead of pretending they're not there and it would be getting their side of the story, instead of sitting in judgment and ridicule.
My problem is I tried living here - in this place, among these people. I believed I was making a better life for myself and for my son. I truly believed I was moving up in the world.
I was really just moving farther and farther away from my abuse. Hiding behind multiple masks doing, as my therapist said, whatever I could to be liked. Nobody here was really my friend, even though Gary has said for years that they were. It's quite obvious now, that they weren't and aren't.
All these years, I was trying to be something I'm not - faking it. Gary recently told me (in his defense of talking about me behind my back) "People see you no matter what mask you wear." and I wonder what he meant by that because during my last session I literally sobbed, wracking sobs, over my fear that people would see the ugly inside of me and she said, "Nobody knows but you."
That's not true anymore, though. Now it's true - my biggest, greatest fear, my greatest shame is now out there like a fucking newspaper for everyone to read, and he gets to be writer, editor and publisher.
So cruel, so heartless, so callous and careless.
I remember one time when he referred to a woman at the marina as a "Crack Whore" and I was astonished and I chewed him out for it. He admitted he was wrong to say such a thing but he did - he said it - which shows the level of compassion in this place where I was trying so hard to fit in.
It wasn't long ago that I ripped my necklace from my throat and threw it because I felt so stupid for "dressing up" - stupid, stupid, stupid, I kept telling myself. Who do you think you are, to try to fit in?? Everyone sees it! Everyone knows you're a fake! A FREAK!
I sat on the edge of the bed and cried, thinking all these horrible things about myself.
Gary got angry with me. No compassion, just anger.
That's how much compassion there is in this town...in this state...in this world.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Blowing Smoke
Today, my therapist told me she's not going to "blow smoke up my ass" or "bullshit" me. I like her even more now.
She said this to make sure I knew she's not trying to "dress me up in a pretty dress and send me back out into the world." She said it because of my response to her telling me I am not ugly and I should not be ashamed. My response was, "But I am ashamed and everyone knows and everyone can see it." I told her about my self-realizations today.
We talked about my explosions of rage and she said even if the actions are wrong, the feelings are there and they're neither good nor bad, simply are. Told her I'm so tired of always saying "I'm Sorry" for things that seem to happen out of my control...it's like vomit. I told her I was ashamed of it and that I hate who I am.
She said I don't really know who I am, yet. But we'll get there.
I told her about mine and Gary's conversation this morning. I cried and told her he's right about all of it. He's always right... the shame - God the shame - is so compounded because of the flashback.
"Do you want to tell me about the flashback?"
I kind of told her...kind of.
"The shame is bigger than the world, bigger than me," I cried.
"You were a child," she said. "You had no control."
"BUT I DID IT!" I yelled back, not really knowing where it came from, feeling so, so ashamed - the image so fresh in my mind, I felt I could reach out and touch it. That's how REAL a flashback is.
"You were just a child and to this day you're doing the same thing - you're trying to do what everyone wants you to do."
This made me sob even harder because I'd told her that I told Gary I'd do anything - anything - to work it out because all I wanted, was for him to love me.
I told her about pushing people away. She said most trauma survivors show people their ugly core first, then that way, if the person leaves, it's okay.
"I used to do that," I confessed. "I used to lay it out like a disclaimer. Tell everyone about my past. But I don't do that anymore."
"Then how are you pushing people away?" she asked.
"I don't know," I cried, wracking, sobbing cries. "I don't know. I talk, I buy birthday cards. I'm a good listener. I don't know how I push people away. I don't know what he means."
She said I am probably not pushing people away, but that is his perspective. I told her I do keep people at arm's length - and I do - but that's not pushing them away. Neither, according to her, are these outbursts. They're not pushing people away; they are based on a lifetime of abuse that started as a child and have become a dysfunctional habit of sorts. That's why they're so intense. "You get flooded," she validated. She's absolutely right.
She says I'm like an onion and we have to peel away these layers of abuse and intrusive thoughts that have been built around a beautiful core. She said she can already tell that I am a strong, generous, giving, authentic, compassionate person...going through a crisis. She said, "Most people would have crumbled three weeks ago. You have more strength and courage than you realize yet."
She told me I am functioning as best as I can right now. Even with the drinking - which I told her I agreed with Gary about (and she kind of nodded in agreement) - I told her I realize there are things I need to change but she, recognizing I was criticizing myself, again said: "You are managing the best way you know how, for now. That will change."
She said we'll get to that core, but some people - those like Gary and those who listen to his side of the story without ever even wondering how true it really is or saying they're uncomfortable knowing about my personal history - are not worthy of bearing witness to the peeling of my layers.
She's right.
As the session ended, she searched for a word to best describe me right now. As her blue eyes turned towards the ceiling, she looked back at me and said, "Raw. You are raw right now."
She's right about that, too.
It was an extremely emotional session.
She said this to make sure I knew she's not trying to "dress me up in a pretty dress and send me back out into the world." She said it because of my response to her telling me I am not ugly and I should not be ashamed. My response was, "But I am ashamed and everyone knows and everyone can see it." I told her about my self-realizations today.
We talked about my explosions of rage and she said even if the actions are wrong, the feelings are there and they're neither good nor bad, simply are. Told her I'm so tired of always saying "I'm Sorry" for things that seem to happen out of my control...it's like vomit. I told her I was ashamed of it and that I hate who I am.
She said I don't really know who I am, yet. But we'll get there.
I told her about mine and Gary's conversation this morning. I cried and told her he's right about all of it. He's always right... the shame - God the shame - is so compounded because of the flashback.
"Do you want to tell me about the flashback?"
I kind of told her...kind of.
"The shame is bigger than the world, bigger than me," I cried.
"You were a child," she said. "You had no control."
"BUT I DID IT!" I yelled back, not really knowing where it came from, feeling so, so ashamed - the image so fresh in my mind, I felt I could reach out and touch it. That's how REAL a flashback is.
"You were just a child and to this day you're doing the same thing - you're trying to do what everyone wants you to do."
This made me sob even harder because I'd told her that I told Gary I'd do anything - anything - to work it out because all I wanted, was for him to love me.
I told her about pushing people away. She said most trauma survivors show people their ugly core first, then that way, if the person leaves, it's okay.
"I used to do that," I confessed. "I used to lay it out like a disclaimer. Tell everyone about my past. But I don't do that anymore."
"Then how are you pushing people away?" she asked.
"I don't know," I cried, wracking, sobbing cries. "I don't know. I talk, I buy birthday cards. I'm a good listener. I don't know how I push people away. I don't know what he means."
She said I am probably not pushing people away, but that is his perspective. I told her I do keep people at arm's length - and I do - but that's not pushing them away. Neither, according to her, are these outbursts. They're not pushing people away; they are based on a lifetime of abuse that started as a child and have become a dysfunctional habit of sorts. That's why they're so intense. "You get flooded," she validated. She's absolutely right.
She says I'm like an onion and we have to peel away these layers of abuse and intrusive thoughts that have been built around a beautiful core. She said she can already tell that I am a strong, generous, giving, authentic, compassionate person...going through a crisis. She said, "Most people would have crumbled three weeks ago. You have more strength and courage than you realize yet."
She told me I am functioning as best as I can right now. Even with the drinking - which I told her I agreed with Gary about (and she kind of nodded in agreement) - I told her I realize there are things I need to change but she, recognizing I was criticizing myself, again said: "You are managing the best way you know how, for now. That will change."
She said we'll get to that core, but some people - those like Gary and those who listen to his side of the story without ever even wondering how true it really is or saying they're uncomfortable knowing about my personal history - are not worthy of bearing witness to the peeling of my layers.
She's right.
As the session ended, she searched for a word to best describe me right now. As her blue eyes turned towards the ceiling, she looked back at me and said, "Raw. You are raw right now."
She's right about that, too.
It was an extremely emotional session.
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.
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