My name is Cristina D. Johnson.
I have PTSD and DID but I am not defined by them. Rather, I am temporarily impeded by them as I walk through this painful journey of self-discovery and introspection; memory-recall; re-learning; therapy and guidance.
The biggest inhibitor of these disorders, for me, is the unpredictable nature of them. For example, the other night during a Christmas gathering, someone mentioned a single word and once the word was spoken, flashes of my father - my first and most brutal abuser - began flickering in my mind, like those old-time reels of film. Click-click-click-click, as I felt warmth spread through my body. But because of where we were and because we were so surrounded by people, some "part" of me, held me together and I breathed through the moment.
Strange things cause these outbursts, whether expressed or internalized. When internalized, it feels like a pressure cooker; When externalized, it's like the lid has blown off the pressure cooker.
Occasionally, the lid is gently removed, to let off some of the steam and during those times, there is a moment of relief, immediately followed by (sometimes days of) regret, fear and intimidation. "Oh God I've said too much...I've revealed too much."
White vans; the scent of Vanilla; burgundy vans; holidays; the way someone holds their cigarette; certain words/phrases; smells; telephones; vehicles; certain styles of a moustache; guitars; playgrounds; strangers; some Latinos; grocery shopping....
These and other things set me off and I don't even know it.
Bill unwittingly sent me spiraling into panic one night when he said, "If you're too hot, you can turn the heater down," as we were in the car. I was immediately thrown back into the cab of a truck where - countless times - I was raped and/or beaten as a child.
This was following a phone call from my therapist, which followed a troubling trip to the grocery store. It piled up until finally I was shaking and scrambling for a Risperdal in my purse, dropping my cigarette, discombobulated and all I could do was keep telling myself, "It's okay - it's Bill. It's okay - It's Bill..."
I don't like phones or phone calls and I never (or rarely) answer any phone call that shows an unknown number.
I know where this comes from, but that's another story.
Friday night, Bill and I were up until past 5 a.m. just sitting at the dining room table, talking and having drinks. It was nice. We played spades (he won) and we talked about all manner of things - which we often do. We are good together in that way. We've always had great conversations.
I lit several incense. I love the incense, plus I got a bunch of new incense and burners for Christmas. I was so tickled.
I received a text as we were heading to bed from our neighbor. "Could you guys please chill out with the smoke/incense? It's going through the walls. Thanks."
I panicked.
I felt horrible. I apologized profusely. I heard nothing back.
That was Friday.
Saturday I awoke still semi-panicked. Afraid to do anything. Very jumpy - constantly on Trevor to be quiet, stop talking so loud, stop slamming doors, stop this, stop that. I, once again, hid inside - away from the windows. Time came to cook dinner...
I was slicing the zucchini and squash and it seemed like every time the knife slid through the vegetable and hit the cutting board, a bomb was going off. "Be quiet!" I kept hearing in my mind. "STOP BEING SO LOUD!" I chastised myself. Oh I was so afraid. I didn't want to upset the neighbor.
As I was cooking, my cell phone rang. I looked - it was the landlady.
I felt a punch to my stomach. The fear that ran through me transformed into trembling and terror.
"Do you want me to answer it?" Bill asked.
I nodded, wordlessly.
Oh God. Oh God.
Bill talked with her as I added the vegetables with mushrooms and onions to the pan. I was trembling so badly that it felt as if I was shaking both inside and out. Like my blood was rumbling beneath my skin, my bones were shaking, at the same time that my hands and neck and head and my body was shaking. My legs were weak. I wanted to cry.
This is it. This is when she tells me it's not going to work out and we have to leave. Leave this apartment. Move away.
Please...please...please....
As I stirred the vegetables, I heard Bill say, "She's right here, she's cooking actually," and I thought, "Oh no! She wants to talk to me!"
Bill held the phone down. "She wants to talk to you about plowing."
(We have a long driveway that is shared by the neighboring house and usually the cost of plowing of the driveway is split three ways between that neighbor, and me and the neighbor I share the duplex with).
I spoke with the landlady. My voice was shaky. I tried to control it. It was a lot like holding your breath as long as you possibly can. I was holding my breath. Waiting to hear of a complaint the neighbor had given.
No such thing was said.
When I hung up the phone, I exhaled - figuratively speaking - and my body seemed to deflate. Bill, thinking ahead, had lit a cigarette and brought it to me. I ran into the dining room with it. "Can't let anyone see!"
I fixed dinner; couldn't eat. Tried.
Drank my milk.
Tried distracting myself with a movie about a Mayan elder (www.shiftoftheages.com) but this did nothing to stop the turbulence inside.
After, I logged Bill into his FB account so he could play a game that I play. There was a message for him. It was from his sister. I had to show Bill how to get to it but everything got confused and maybe I didn't handle it right or explain it clearly enough but he clicked the little red "1" on the messages balloon and I saw the first line of her message - it was clearly some kind of criticism. Without asking, Bill said he didn't want to read it and he went to the end of the pop up and clicked "See all messages" and when he did that, I saw a (presumably) old message from Gary - unread. Saw his face.
Bill threw his hands up. "Get me out of here," he said as he leaned back against the couch.
I felt I'd done something(s) wrong...again.
We went to bed. I laid down and was overwhelmed - "flooded" as Michelle calls it - and my mind would not stop chattering. I became afraid and I didn't know what I was afraid of. I started to cry. I didn't know why I was crying. I tried talking to myself within my mind and there was nothing but chaos, confusion. Pictures, images, flashes, memories. Gary, Daddy, the neighbor, homelessness, bills, "Dee", Trevor....so much...too much. I couldn't quiet my mind and I just surrendered. I felt I was being battered from inside my skull.
I sat up and took two klonopin, smoked half a cigarette, laid back down. Bill cautiously asked if he could lie close to me. "Yes," I said.
He moved closer and put his arms around me, and I cried. He kept telling me, "It's okay. I'm here. I've gotcha. You're safe." And I just cried some more, feeling foolish. Kept trying to breathe, kept counting my breaths, trying to focus on anything but the noise in my head.
It sucks to live every day in fear.
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Us Versus Them (and other things)
My name is Cristina D. Johnson
Had a good session today. And by "good," I mean: I cried.
To me, crying feels almost as good as sneezing.
There was a lot to talk about and even though I've been seeing Michelle for several months, I still struggle opening up.
We talked a lot about Bill, who is home now. Interestingly, I have shut down. While I've spent months talking to him and he's been so loving, supportive, giving and wonderful, now that he's here, my body has shut down.
To be quite honest (skip this part if you don't want TMI), I asked Michelle, "Can I be frank?"
She looked around the office as if to say, "Uhm..hello, you're in a therapists office. This is about the only place in the world you can be frank."
I told her I've had intimacy issues with Bill - not because of Bill, but because of me. Bill is particularly....gifted, let's say, in this department, however I have been unable to fully participate. And, by fully participate, I mean: we've never had intimacy issues - EVER - and now all the sudden I'm having these issues.
So anyway, she said she is not surprised to hear this because - with the latest issues I've been having; nightmares, losing time, panic, etc. - it would seem that we are touching the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, and tapping into deeper things. She acknowledged (which I believe fully) that our bodies store things subconsciously and because we're getting closer to those more painful things from my past, my body is just shutting down.
I cried and I agreed.
But then we talked about something that's been eating at me more than realized...
I was invited to an event at June's Outback Pub in Killingworth. So were over 900 other people. My son works there, too. That's a slight stressor in itself since our relationship has gone through so many changes over the past year. But that isn't the problem.
The problem is that Gary was also invited. I found out through facebook that he, too, is on the list of invitees and this, I told Michelle, is weighing heavily on me.
This is when we started talking about "us versus them" and I told her I'd struggled with it..I haven't gone out (as in, out for drinks), since moving here and I only went out once since breaking up with Gary. I told him multiple times during that painful process that he'd ruined my life here. And he had. He did. I can't go anywhere to sing karaoke. I can't go to the old places I used to go to because he made sure to ruin me everywhere he could, for the sake of making himself look better. Whatever. That's fine.
But Junes, well, I figured it was a safe place to go, plus I'd have Bill with me and (I am hoping, hoping, hoping) a few other friends, plus my adoptive parents. They're going to have karaoke, which I haven't done in months and miss terribly. It's my therapy, outside of therapy. It's the only place I've ever had a voice.
I had it in my head that I would go and just be me. Just be there with Bill and my friends and just have fun... and sing! I want to sing a new song; a song for Bill. A song that I've practiced for weeks because it's so fitting for our relationship. Oh I was so excited about it.
But Gary, see, never goes anywhere alone. He brings all of the "thems" with him. The "thems" that he swore to me never existed when I would talk to him about it.
Oh yes, there are "us's" and "them's"
The "us's" are those of us who have been raped, molested, brutalized, and abused. We are the ones who feel like everything ugly shows and there's nothing about us that anyone could possibly love. There's something inherently wrong with us, because if there wasn't, then none of that stuff would have happened to us. The "us's" believe the "them's" are stuck-up, snobby, snooty and will never get it. They're dispassionate and out of touch with reality. Not all of "them" are like that - some are just devoid of any connection to it at all and it's not that they don't care, it's just that they don't acknowledge that.
That's the kind of "them" that Gary is.
So I told Michelle I was terrified of showing up with the intention of seeing my son, having a good time and singing my new song to Bill, only to find Gary showed up at the ONE PLACE that he didn't destroy for me. The ONE PLACE I feel okay going to.
Please, don't take that away from me. Please just let me have this....this one night.
So much more going on, so much happening it's like being caught in a whirlwind that's about to turn into a tornado.
You're swirling around and things feel out of control - and they are - and everything feels uncertain but you know you're about to get hit with a bunch of shit...heavy, hard shit and it's gonna hurt.
One thing about the "us versus them" mentality that I said to Michelle was, "It's a mentality I've had all my life. Or, well, at least since I got old enough to understand society--" and she cut me off.
"Cristina, honey," she said. "You've been living an 'us versus them' life your whole life. It has always been 'us versus them' for you. It started with Cristina and [my little brother] against your parents."
I nodded, silent, and quietly cried. I let the tears fall, and let acceptance slowly creep into my cerebrum. I will need to give some more thought to this.
If any of my friends read this, I'd love to see you at June's on the 9th. I miss having friends; I miss singing karaoke; I miss going out and not being so isolated and having friends there, helps me feel less afraid. So, if you read this, join us.
-C
Had a good session today. And by "good," I mean: I cried.
To me, crying feels almost as good as sneezing.
There was a lot to talk about and even though I've been seeing Michelle for several months, I still struggle opening up.
We talked a lot about Bill, who is home now. Interestingly, I have shut down. While I've spent months talking to him and he's been so loving, supportive, giving and wonderful, now that he's here, my body has shut down.
To be quite honest (skip this part if you don't want TMI), I asked Michelle, "Can I be frank?"
She looked around the office as if to say, "Uhm..hello, you're in a therapists office. This is about the only place in the world you can be frank."
I told her I've had intimacy issues with Bill - not because of Bill, but because of me. Bill is particularly....gifted, let's say, in this department, however I have been unable to fully participate. And, by fully participate, I mean: we've never had intimacy issues - EVER - and now all the sudden I'm having these issues.
So anyway, she said she is not surprised to hear this because - with the latest issues I've been having; nightmares, losing time, panic, etc. - it would seem that we are touching the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, and tapping into deeper things. She acknowledged (which I believe fully) that our bodies store things subconsciously and because we're getting closer to those more painful things from my past, my body is just shutting down.
I cried and I agreed.
But then we talked about something that's been eating at me more than realized...
I was invited to an event at June's Outback Pub in Killingworth. So were over 900 other people. My son works there, too. That's a slight stressor in itself since our relationship has gone through so many changes over the past year. But that isn't the problem.
The problem is that Gary was also invited. I found out through facebook that he, too, is on the list of invitees and this, I told Michelle, is weighing heavily on me.
This is when we started talking about "us versus them" and I told her I'd struggled with it..I haven't gone out (as in, out for drinks), since moving here and I only went out once since breaking up with Gary. I told him multiple times during that painful process that he'd ruined my life here. And he had. He did. I can't go anywhere to sing karaoke. I can't go to the old places I used to go to because he made sure to ruin me everywhere he could, for the sake of making himself look better. Whatever. That's fine.
But Junes, well, I figured it was a safe place to go, plus I'd have Bill with me and (I am hoping, hoping, hoping) a few other friends, plus my adoptive parents. They're going to have karaoke, which I haven't done in months and miss terribly. It's my therapy, outside of therapy. It's the only place I've ever had a voice.
I had it in my head that I would go and just be me. Just be there with Bill and my friends and just have fun... and sing! I want to sing a new song; a song for Bill. A song that I've practiced for weeks because it's so fitting for our relationship. Oh I was so excited about it.
But Gary, see, never goes anywhere alone. He brings all of the "thems" with him. The "thems" that he swore to me never existed when I would talk to him about it.
Oh yes, there are "us's" and "them's"
The "us's" are those of us who have been raped, molested, brutalized, and abused. We are the ones who feel like everything ugly shows and there's nothing about us that anyone could possibly love. There's something inherently wrong with us, because if there wasn't, then none of that stuff would have happened to us. The "us's" believe the "them's" are stuck-up, snobby, snooty and will never get it. They're dispassionate and out of touch with reality. Not all of "them" are like that - some are just devoid of any connection to it at all and it's not that they don't care, it's just that they don't acknowledge that.
That's the kind of "them" that Gary is.
So I told Michelle I was terrified of showing up with the intention of seeing my son, having a good time and singing my new song to Bill, only to find Gary showed up at the ONE PLACE that he didn't destroy for me. The ONE PLACE I feel okay going to.
Please, don't take that away from me. Please just let me have this....this one night.
So much more going on, so much happening it's like being caught in a whirlwind that's about to turn into a tornado.
You're swirling around and things feel out of control - and they are - and everything feels uncertain but you know you're about to get hit with a bunch of shit...heavy, hard shit and it's gonna hurt.
One thing about the "us versus them" mentality that I said to Michelle was, "It's a mentality I've had all my life. Or, well, at least since I got old enough to understand society--" and she cut me off.
"Cristina, honey," she said. "You've been living an 'us versus them' life your whole life. It has always been 'us versus them' for you. It started with Cristina and [my little brother] against your parents."
I nodded, silent, and quietly cried. I let the tears fall, and let acceptance slowly creep into my cerebrum. I will need to give some more thought to this.
If any of my friends read this, I'd love to see you at June's on the 9th. I miss having friends; I miss singing karaoke; I miss going out and not being so isolated and having friends there, helps me feel less afraid. So, if you read this, join us.
-C
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Whispered Wound
Forever spoken
Never heard again
The wound that rides
a whisper in the wind
Can they see it?
Will they know?
Do I look okay?
Do my scars show?
Who am I kidding?
Of course they see
It's like a disease
spread all over me.
Staring, I know
Their disdain and sneers
So I swing, swing hard
when anyone nears
The smile is pretty
beneath it, is rot
but this mask I wear
is all I've got.
It's all I've mastered
and I'm damn good
Sit still and listen
like a good girl should
Walk away quickly
when someone is kind
run, run away
they'll change their mind
There's alternate meaning
to every touch
although you ache for it
Oh so much
Remember the whisper
the wound's still alive
it's in the air
it still survives
Burning an inside
already marred
crisp with rage
with terror, charred
Memories choke me
like swallowing tar
get out, get out!
whoever you are!
Give me my mask
I'll smile a sweet smile
bitterly isolated
all the while
Because I know the truth
It's all a big front
To be perfect, wanted, loved...
To be whatever you want
This skin isn't mine
Lost long before
These chills you give me
I try to ignore
This ache in my chest
When I see your face
This dare to believe
In a different kind of place
My heart pounds
the whisper returns
Run away, Run away!
You're gonna get burned
But I peek through the curtain
and there he stands
Same as always...
same smile, same hands
Same kindness and face
green eyes that care
See beyond what I hide
Is there hope there?
Never heard again
The wound that rides
a whisper in the wind
Can they see it?
Will they know?
Do I look okay?
Do my scars show?
Who am I kidding?
Of course they see
It's like a disease
spread all over me.
Staring, I know
Their disdain and sneers
So I swing, swing hard
when anyone nears
The smile is pretty
beneath it, is rot
but this mask I wear
is all I've got.
It's all I've mastered
and I'm damn good
Sit still and listen
like a good girl should
Walk away quickly
when someone is kind
run, run away
they'll change their mind
There's alternate meaning
to every touch
although you ache for it
Oh so much
Remember the whisper
the wound's still alive
it's in the air
it still survives
Burning an inside
already marred
crisp with rage
with terror, charred
Memories choke me
like swallowing tar
get out, get out!
whoever you are!
Give me my mask
I'll smile a sweet smile
bitterly isolated
all the while
Because I know the truth
It's all a big front
To be perfect, wanted, loved...
To be whatever you want
This skin isn't mine
Lost long before
These chills you give me
I try to ignore
This ache in my chest
When I see your face
This dare to believe
In a different kind of place
My heart pounds
the whisper returns
Run away, Run away!
You're gonna get burned
But I peek through the curtain
and there he stands
Same as always...
same smile, same hands
Same kindness and face
green eyes that care
See beyond what I hide
Is there hope there?
Monday, November 12, 2012
Intensity in Love
My name is Cristina D. Johnson.
My session, today, was heavy. I was already shook up when I got there. I got some news and instantly started shaking, crying and got a headache, simultaneously. Funny thing is, it was good news, but it was so damn overwhelming. So I showed up to see Michelle very shaky an disoriented.
"Let's take a minute," she said, "Take a couple deep breaths."
I tried...felt silly. I always feel silly when someone says, "Breathe....take a deep breath..." (I even feel awkward doing it for the doctor, now that I think about it. Weird).
Anyway, as I predicted, she asked what my take was, on the dream I had about my father. I told her I was completely, absolutely lost. I had no idea. This surprised her.
The session kind of went all over the place - she triggered me once....one of those snapshots, like a lightning-fast emotional response to something she said, and then poof it was gone.
"What did you say?" I asked her.
She looked at me confused. I was confused. I started crying. I was reminded of something, but couldn't remember what I had been reminded of. It's so strange how those flashbacks work.
"What did it bring up for you?" she asked.
"I don't remember. What was it you said?"
She said she was talking about making mistakes ....
And I snatched a kleenex from the box on the table, where she'd set it for me. "He was so cruel," I whimpered. "So cruel." I started shaking.
"Punishment...that's what it brought up. There were no mistakes. You couldn't make mistakes," I told her, but without the emotional connection. I shed a few tears and it was gone. All that was left was the memory, devoid of any attachment. "He once punished me for holding the cat wrong."
Then we talked about re-parenting.....Cindy is doing a marvelous job at this. "Ron won't be able to re-parent you," she said. I suspect this is because of the extent of the abuse I went through with my father. Plus Ron also, unfortunately, has some of the same traits as my father....tall, powerful, and he has a way about him that's very much like my birth father. I am trying to work past that....as is Ron, to his credit.
And then...the most painful of all: the dream.
First she said she was very surprised that no therapist had ever spoken to me about sexual dreams about fathers who molest their daughters. "It's very common," she explained.
She also told me it's not uncommon to experience arousal when being molested. It's a physiological experience that the body cannot control. It's clearly more obvious for boys/men because, well, you know...it's obvious if they're aroused. But not so much for girls.
"I don't remember ever feeling aroused," I told her. "The only good feelings I recall are those of knowing that I was doing something right...doing something to make Daddy happy....Never do I recall being aroused."
She said we (women) often pile junk on top of it: how gross and disgusting and despicable it is, how wrong and dirty and we have so much piled up on top of it, that even if we were aroused, we wouldn't know it.
Which brought us to the dream. She said the dream was symbolic and - in her opinion, based on what I told her - had nothing to do with my father, and everything to do with Bill.
For me, the most difficult aspect of that dream, was the strong emotional attachment I was feeling towards my father as I initiated sex. The feeling of this very powerful love, was identical to that which I feel for Bill.
We talked a lot about this, about my authentic fear of this love for Bill.
"What are you afraid of?"
"I don't know. Doing something wrong? Saying something wrong? Being hurt. Being abandoned."
But there's more to it than that, even. Kind of like Cindy is "re-parenting" me, Bill is giving me this love that I've never had before and I am terrified of it...not used to it...
"You know," she said, "It takes a huge amount of courage for you to love him....to let him love you that way."
I cried...this heart-wrenching, desperate cry. Aching inside. So confused. So afraid. Hopeful but terrified.
The only other time I ever felt such intense love, was when I loved my father. Feeling that intensity is blindingly terrifying.
Yet....if I let it happen...if I just let it run it's course, I will (or should) re-learn love. Healthy love, instead of the toxic, abusive, painful love that I hold inside as a norm. This fearful, punishing love that sticks to me like velcro.
I wonder....
I wonder if I left Bill years ago, because of this intensity, in favor of a more superficial relationship, that would spare me from loving so deeply.
Thank you Cindy....Ron...Bill......
Bill.....thank you.
My session, today, was heavy. I was already shook up when I got there. I got some news and instantly started shaking, crying and got a headache, simultaneously. Funny thing is, it was good news, but it was so damn overwhelming. So I showed up to see Michelle very shaky an disoriented.
"Let's take a minute," she said, "Take a couple deep breaths."
I tried...felt silly. I always feel silly when someone says, "Breathe....take a deep breath..." (I even feel awkward doing it for the doctor, now that I think about it. Weird).
Anyway, as I predicted, she asked what my take was, on the dream I had about my father. I told her I was completely, absolutely lost. I had no idea. This surprised her.
The session kind of went all over the place - she triggered me once....one of those snapshots, like a lightning-fast emotional response to something she said, and then poof it was gone.
"What did you say?" I asked her.
She looked at me confused. I was confused. I started crying. I was reminded of something, but couldn't remember what I had been reminded of. It's so strange how those flashbacks work.
"What did it bring up for you?" she asked.
"I don't remember. What was it you said?"
She said she was talking about making mistakes ....
And I snatched a kleenex from the box on the table, where she'd set it for me. "He was so cruel," I whimpered. "So cruel." I started shaking.
"Punishment...that's what it brought up. There were no mistakes. You couldn't make mistakes," I told her, but without the emotional connection. I shed a few tears and it was gone. All that was left was the memory, devoid of any attachment. "He once punished me for holding the cat wrong."
Then we talked about re-parenting.....Cindy is doing a marvelous job at this. "Ron won't be able to re-parent you," she said. I suspect this is because of the extent of the abuse I went through with my father. Plus Ron also, unfortunately, has some of the same traits as my father....tall, powerful, and he has a way about him that's very much like my birth father. I am trying to work past that....as is Ron, to his credit.
And then...the most painful of all: the dream.
First she said she was very surprised that no therapist had ever spoken to me about sexual dreams about fathers who molest their daughters. "It's very common," she explained.
She also told me it's not uncommon to experience arousal when being molested. It's a physiological experience that the body cannot control. It's clearly more obvious for boys/men because, well, you know...it's obvious if they're aroused. But not so much for girls.
"I don't remember ever feeling aroused," I told her. "The only good feelings I recall are those of knowing that I was doing something right...doing something to make Daddy happy....Never do I recall being aroused."
She said we (women) often pile junk on top of it: how gross and disgusting and despicable it is, how wrong and dirty and we have so much piled up on top of it, that even if we were aroused, we wouldn't know it.
Which brought us to the dream. She said the dream was symbolic and - in her opinion, based on what I told her - had nothing to do with my father, and everything to do with Bill.
For me, the most difficult aspect of that dream, was the strong emotional attachment I was feeling towards my father as I initiated sex. The feeling of this very powerful love, was identical to that which I feel for Bill.
We talked a lot about this, about my authentic fear of this love for Bill.
"What are you afraid of?"
"I don't know. Doing something wrong? Saying something wrong? Being hurt. Being abandoned."
But there's more to it than that, even. Kind of like Cindy is "re-parenting" me, Bill is giving me this love that I've never had before and I am terrified of it...not used to it...
"You know," she said, "It takes a huge amount of courage for you to love him....to let him love you that way."
I cried...this heart-wrenching, desperate cry. Aching inside. So confused. So afraid. Hopeful but terrified.
The only other time I ever felt such intense love, was when I loved my father. Feeling that intensity is blindingly terrifying.
Yet....if I let it happen...if I just let it run it's course, I will (or should) re-learn love. Healthy love, instead of the toxic, abusive, painful love that I hold inside as a norm. This fearful, punishing love that sticks to me like velcro.
I wonder....
I wonder if I left Bill years ago, because of this intensity, in favor of a more superficial relationship, that would spare me from loving so deeply.
Thank you Cindy....Ron...Bill......
Bill.....thank you.
Friday, November 9, 2012
It's okay? Really??
My name is Cristina Johnson
Oh what a day today has been. I was dreading my session with Michelle. I had a specific thing to talk to her about: That "feeling" of "breaking a rule" when it comes to loving someone.
As I walk in, she makes no qualms: You look like hell.
And I did. I have cried every day since Saturday - good cries and bad ones - and my mouth is so sore with fever blisters. "Yes," I agreed. "I look about as good as I feel."
"So what's going on?" she asks, her typical starting phrase.
I was afraid to tell her. How strange, I think now. How strange that I was afraid to tell her (or anyone, really) that Bill heard back from an employer here in CT and there's a good chance he could be home for Christmas.
I was scared, so at first, I didn't tell her. Instead, I told her about "the rule" and asked her what she thought about it.
"Where does it come from?" I asked. "Does the fact that Hannah and I are incest survivors have anything to do with it?"
Oh no...she won't let me off that easy.
"Where do you think it comes from?"
I said (cleverly avoiding my own responsibility for the answer), "Well, Hannah says she thought it might have to do with not believing we deserve it."
She said nothing, just kept watching....oh she doesn't let me off easy.
"But I don't think that," I finally said.
Her eyes widened and she said, "You just threw me. This is a different 'you'," she said. I would expect Hannah's kind of answer from you.
"No, no," I said. "I mean, I don't believe it consciously, anyway. And I don't believe it for Hannah or anyone else."
We spent a few moments batting back and forth about it and she finally - thankfully - helped me weed through the marsh of my mind.
"When people go through trauma - especially complex trauma like yours and especially when it includes the people who were supposed to protect and love you - it turns your perceptions upside down," she explained.
I'll sum it up:
Love always hurts. Duh. I know that. Anyone with any experience in it, knows that. But for me, as a child, the only two times I didn't do what I was asked (oh, so benevolently) to do by my father, I was either (1) sodomized or (2) strangled and suffocated. That's why it only happened twice. I learned to never tell him no. It also happened through the rapes...the many times when, if you cry or show any emotion or physical pain, they hit you. This taught me unequivocally, that love equals punishment.
"Who is going to punish you?" she asked me.
This is where it got tough, and I shrugged, rather childishly, looked sideways to the cream-colored carpet.
"My facebook friends?" I offered.
"What do you mean?"
"They'll ostracize me and chastise me and judge me."
"Right which would be excruciating for you, since you just went through that."
"Yes," I admitted.
"Who else?
I began to tear up, I whispered, "You?"
"Why would I punish you?" she asked, incredulous. "Now, now we're back to the Cristina I know," she said half-jokingly. "Listen, unless you have a gun and you're ready to use it on yourself, none of the decisions or choices you make are really my business," she said lightly. "What do you want?" she asked. "What does Cristina want?"
I was afraid to answer...still.
She wouldn't let up. "It's okay. Whatever you want, is okay. It doesn't matter what anyone else says, it's what you want and if it's not self-destructive or hurting others, then it's okay!" she stated.
This was when I told her about Bill and the job and I read to her the end of my last blog, crying as I read the words...remembering the feelings I had that day...remembering the power of them.
"So who would disapprove of that? Obviously Cindy approves and Trevor definitely approves. So who would disapprove?"
I, again, said "My facebook friends, you (meaning, her), Bill's family..." I cried. I cried not just because of these fears, but also because I was so afraid in that moment.
She said: "My husband is my best friend and I have to tell you that if I had to walk away from every family member and friend for my marriage, I would do it without question." She said she was telling me this because relationships are personal and because some need distance, some need closeness, some need to be shut off completely.
I ached with this resounding joy in my heart....I could feel it throughout my body, that I'd just kind of gotten permission to love. To love Bill. To want him here. To miss him.
Other things were discussed but this was the most important. I left with a sense of purpose and resilience and I felt elated to have these words echoing in my mind: "It's okay for me to love Bill? Oh my God it's okay? It's okay??"
I later went to see my medical doctor and he kind of hurt me...made me feel like a worthless piece of shit (which isn't really his tendency, just my own issues) but even that - even though I sat there crying as he was telling me I was beyond his scope of care - I left almost bouncing. "I have permission to love him! It's okay for me to love him!"
Nothing about this whole situation has made sense to me until now..... it's so much of that tangled barbed wire I speak of inside, that I have to untangle, but I found a loose end, and I ain't lettin' it go, not til I figure out how to untangle it. I don't want to lose this feeling. In fact, I want to expand on it. I want it to grow and bleed into everyone and anyone in my life. I want to not fear loving them.
But Bill.... Bill I love you. I always have. I miss you.
Oh what a day today has been. I was dreading my session with Michelle. I had a specific thing to talk to her about: That "feeling" of "breaking a rule" when it comes to loving someone.
As I walk in, she makes no qualms: You look like hell.
And I did. I have cried every day since Saturday - good cries and bad ones - and my mouth is so sore with fever blisters. "Yes," I agreed. "I look about as good as I feel."
"So what's going on?" she asks, her typical starting phrase.
I was afraid to tell her. How strange, I think now. How strange that I was afraid to tell her (or anyone, really) that Bill heard back from an employer here in CT and there's a good chance he could be home for Christmas.
I was scared, so at first, I didn't tell her. Instead, I told her about "the rule" and asked her what she thought about it.
"Where does it come from?" I asked. "Does the fact that Hannah and I are incest survivors have anything to do with it?"
Oh no...she won't let me off that easy.
"Where do you think it comes from?"
I said (cleverly avoiding my own responsibility for the answer), "Well, Hannah says she thought it might have to do with not believing we deserve it."
She said nothing, just kept watching....oh she doesn't let me off easy.
"But I don't think that," I finally said.
Her eyes widened and she said, "You just threw me. This is a different 'you'," she said. I would expect Hannah's kind of answer from you.
"No, no," I said. "I mean, I don't believe it consciously, anyway. And I don't believe it for Hannah or anyone else."
We spent a few moments batting back and forth about it and she finally - thankfully - helped me weed through the marsh of my mind.
"When people go through trauma - especially complex trauma like yours and especially when it includes the people who were supposed to protect and love you - it turns your perceptions upside down," she explained.
I'll sum it up:
Love always hurts. Duh. I know that. Anyone with any experience in it, knows that. But for me, as a child, the only two times I didn't do what I was asked (oh, so benevolently) to do by my father, I was either (1) sodomized or (2) strangled and suffocated. That's why it only happened twice. I learned to never tell him no. It also happened through the rapes...the many times when, if you cry or show any emotion or physical pain, they hit you. This taught me unequivocally, that love equals punishment.
"Who is going to punish you?" she asked me.
This is where it got tough, and I shrugged, rather childishly, looked sideways to the cream-colored carpet.
"My facebook friends?" I offered.
"What do you mean?"
"They'll ostracize me and chastise me and judge me."
"Right which would be excruciating for you, since you just went through that."
"Yes," I admitted.
"Who else?
I began to tear up, I whispered, "You?"
"Why would I punish you?" she asked, incredulous. "Now, now we're back to the Cristina I know," she said half-jokingly. "Listen, unless you have a gun and you're ready to use it on yourself, none of the decisions or choices you make are really my business," she said lightly. "What do you want?" she asked. "What does Cristina want?"
I was afraid to answer...still.
She wouldn't let up. "It's okay. Whatever you want, is okay. It doesn't matter what anyone else says, it's what you want and if it's not self-destructive or hurting others, then it's okay!" she stated.
This was when I told her about Bill and the job and I read to her the end of my last blog, crying as I read the words...remembering the feelings I had that day...remembering the power of them.
"So who would disapprove of that? Obviously Cindy approves and Trevor definitely approves. So who would disapprove?"
I, again, said "My facebook friends, you (meaning, her), Bill's family..." I cried. I cried not just because of these fears, but also because I was so afraid in that moment.
She said: "My husband is my best friend and I have to tell you that if I had to walk away from every family member and friend for my marriage, I would do it without question." She said she was telling me this because relationships are personal and because some need distance, some need closeness, some need to be shut off completely.
I ached with this resounding joy in my heart....I could feel it throughout my body, that I'd just kind of gotten permission to love. To love Bill. To want him here. To miss him.
Other things were discussed but this was the most important. I left with a sense of purpose and resilience and I felt elated to have these words echoing in my mind: "It's okay for me to love Bill? Oh my God it's okay? It's okay??"
I later went to see my medical doctor and he kind of hurt me...made me feel like a worthless piece of shit (which isn't really his tendency, just my own issues) but even that - even though I sat there crying as he was telling me I was beyond his scope of care - I left almost bouncing. "I have permission to love him! It's okay for me to love him!"
Nothing about this whole situation has made sense to me until now..... it's so much of that tangled barbed wire I speak of inside, that I have to untangle, but I found a loose end, and I ain't lettin' it go, not til I figure out how to untangle it. I don't want to lose this feeling. In fact, I want to expand on it. I want it to grow and bleed into everyone and anyone in my life. I want to not fear loving them.
But Bill.... Bill I love you. I always have. I miss you.
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