The Last Hug

My name is Cristina D. Johnson and I'm sorry to those who think this stuff is redundant. This is my life. This is what I am going through.

My days are like this....

I wake up every morning at 6:30 when Bill calls me. It's 5:30 where he is and he has to be at work at 6 o'clock. Thankfully, this works out well because this is when Trevor is up, getting ready for school. He doesn't like me to be overbearing ("did you put on deodorant?" "Did you brush your teeth?" "Do your clothes match?" "Did you eat breakfast?") so all he really wants is for me to wake up, check on him, and that's kind of how it goes. Then he leaves for school.

I end up crawling back into bed because I spent the previous night up until at least 1 a.m. - sometimes as late as 3 or 4 a.m. - talking with Bill. Depends on the conversation and how I'm doing. He's always concerned when I'm not myself (like last night).

This morning, after I went back to sleep, I had another nightmare. This one was hideous.

It's a little sketchy and scattered but Gary was there and my son, Tony was there (I know this is connected to the hurtful and shameless texts Tony was sending me the other night when he was drunk) but he'd told Gary (in my dream) that'd I had been sleeping with him (Tony). I confronted Tony immediately! Never! never, ever, ever!!! I was so unaffectionate with my children because of this fear of the mentality that "oh...it's passed down from generation to generation..." Oh my God I wouldn't even bathe Tony as a child unless someone was present and the door was open. It's an unfortunate truth. (Fortunately, Trevor does not appreciate nor want affection - part of his autism).

Anyway, we were in a place, some place where they did performances and all our old "mutual friends" were there and they had masks on. They were singing. They would mess up on stage, argue, then start over again, but when this accusation came out, suddenly I was somewhere else...I don't know, maybe on a bus? Somewhere small and confined, and all the sudden people - these "mutual friends" (one I recognized immediately was Hedy), began throwing things at me and kicking me and hurting me. I saw Gary standing nearby and he had his arms crossed, over his chest...staring at me with disgust as these people kept yelling obscenities at me and kicking me and throwing things at me. At one point, I was in the street and they were kicking dirty snow and ice at me as I cried.

There was more to the dream than that, but this is the part that sticks out most, besides one other part: a black man who resembled Forest Whitaker who was kind to me. My instinct and intuition aligns him with Bill because, in the dream, he stuck out (he was black) and he was gentle (like Bill) and worked hard (like Bill) and, most importantly, he was kind to me (like Bill). He invited me to come to his apartment. He stood outside his door, unlocking it, and spoke so gently, telling me I was welcome inside - welcome to come in and be safe - and I was afraid. I was dirty. I couldn't go into the apartment.

I know this seems repetitive, but my days and nights are filled with torment over nightmares and flashbacks - all of Gary.

Today, shaken over my nightmare, I was talked through it by Cindy and Bill. At least to a point where - along with two Klonopin - I was able to make it to the store and post office. I felt accomplished, although weary and concerned about what to make for dinner. I opted for something simple: sloppy joes, but the ground beef was so damned expensive I chose some hamburger patties. I hate feeding my child what I can afford, rather than what I want to feed him.

Anyway....

Trevor got home from school as I was packaging up a care package to send to Bill (it's cold in Illinois and, well, he's a wuss as far as cold weather goes) so I had to get that sent. I did it.

I came home, I put up all the things I'd bought, spread the towel out on my bed as I always do (to protect against dirt, cigarette ashes, cat hair, etc.) and rocked...just rocked... and suddenly, I was hit like a truck with the flashback of when I moved in (I'm sure it had something to do with Samantha's post on moving alone with no help).

I told Trevor he could have the leftover steak in the fridge that I couldn't eat the other night. This pleased him, of course. "Are there any mashed potatoes left?" he asked. "Yep," was my answer, trying to be upbeat.

As he ate downstairs, alone, I sat on my towel, on my bed, and rocked and rocked and rocked...just rocking.... and I saw in my mind, the day I moved. Gary was the only one I could ask for help. He still had the seats out of the van from when he helped "Dee" move. He and Kurt helped. It took them two or three days to move her stuff. I'm sure they were very careful with her stuff.

It took one day to move mine and when it was done, I had scratches and scars, broken furniture...nothing was cared for or handled carefully. Nothing about what was important to me, mattered. It was a rush.

It was a hot day and Gary wore a white shirt. I believe he wore shorts. He kept ordering Trevor around, yelling at him although he was doing his best. I've never seen my son work so hard, without argument. He did everything Gary said and told him to do, but seldom without criticism, although he was working so hard to do his best. My baby wanted out of there so bad, that he put up with Gary's degradation and never said a word.

At the end of the day - when he called his friend, Kurt who had a truck to help move the last of the larger items - I was treated like I was diseased. Shows how clueless Gary is. He told Kurt God-only-knows  what, who, in turn I'm sure, shared with his new girlfriend, Sandy (who was there that day), and who said something to me that she had no reason, business or right to say: "Take care of yourself. I hope you get better."

Well-intended, I'm sure, but none of hers (OR ANYONE'S) business!

That's how I was treated in my dream.

After everything was moved in, and though I knew Gary was seeing someone else - and had been - I recall, it was dark. He and Kurt were going to hook up that night.

We stood in the kitchen, by the back door before he left. He still wore a black bandana around his head to guard the sweat coming into his eyes. He was merciless that day. To me, and to Trevor.

I began to cry.

I walked up to him, I put my arms around him. Oh God.

I cried. I don't remember what I said. I don't remember what he said.

I just remember that he held me, rather sideways....as if he didn't want to cheat on his new girlfriend. As if, again, I was diseased.

I wanted more than anything at that moment for him to just hold me. HOLD ME. Hold me, goddamnit, the way I've needed you to for months!! Show me you don't want this! Show me you love me! Show me I matter to you!!!!

But it was just a sideways embrace. Like our entire relationship. I put my heart into it, my trust into it. I opened up and dared to be vulnerable, only to get half a hug and a pat on the head.

Now....

Now I have Bill who is absolutely in love with me - always has been. He's helped me (and is helping me....and us) more than anyone ever has. And I can only have nightmares about Gary and mourn and cry and feel afraid because of how people treat me. Even my own son.

 Nobody gets it. No, "Dee," you DON'T get it and you never did - claiming to be my friend - and never will. You, in my dream, threw things and kicked me. You were never a friend. Just keep enjoying your absolut and living vicariously through your children, and letting men buy you drinks while you drink yourself into denial.

Bill.... Bill ...oh God.
How do I reach that level of trust and openness and vulnerability that I had with Gary - he promise....he promised....God he promised...

And although Bill has never let me down, never betrayed me, always been there, treats me spectacularly.... I am still so terrified. So afraid. So so afraid.

I don't know what to think or believe. I don't know who to believe. I'm so lost. I'm so, so lost. I'm afraid in my own home.

All I could think this morning was, "I don't belong here" and when I said it, I felt like I don't belong anywhere. I never have. Especially here - where everyone's wearing a mask and kicking me while I'm down. Oh God how that hurts.

This isn't to say there aren't supportive people out there and I suppose it's hard to be supportive when you've heard only one side of the story and you believe it. I suppose that's easy to do, when the person telling the story is buying the drinks, throwing the parties and has been here for over 30 years.

I got so far....so, so far in my therapy and in my journey when I lived with Gary. I thought he understood, at least a little.... but then he got misinformed by a mutual friend who, I'm sure meant well, but did not do any good to help. She hurt, more than she helped. An LCSW, at that. She did nothing to help Gary understand what was happening....just took his word for it (they went to school together) rather than asking my side of it.

It's going to take me a long time to get over this. I have cried so much today, that I'm glad I have nothing to do tomorrow. I will look like a raccoon with puffy eyes.

I'm flying blind. I'm in this dark, damp, dank dingy tunnel, the walls are cold and wet, and there's no light and I keep pushing forward, but there's no light yet.... I have to be vulnerable enough to just keep going...just keep my hands on the cold brick, around the curves, and hope...hope...hope that in the light will be Bill and  Cindy and ....others.

Right now, in CT.....I feel like I'm in a different world. These people as a rule, have no idea. They just have no idea and you can't tell them because they don't want to hear it. They can't envision it because life here, in CT, is beautiful. Full of fall foliage and rivers and streams. The Sound and beautiful mountains and nature.

No, no, no you can't have DID or PTSD....that doesn't exist in this world.

Furthermore, if it does, get over it because we can't handle it.

Gary.......oh Gary.

Oh God I wish you knew. Oh my heart splits right now, right down the middle just wishing you knew. I never needed at hero. You thought I did. I didn't. I needed someone to help me bring out my own hero. Someone who would be there, unconditionally.

And there's Bill...there unconditionally...and you've made me fear him.

Everyone here, makes me fear people. Everything in my past makes me fear people. Going to the grocery store I am terrified of seeing someone who knows me. I hide my face. I move fast. Very fast. I don't want to be seen.

I will get better. I won't always have these horribly sad, depressing blogs but for now, this is part of my journey. And that's what this blog is about: The Journey.

I don't know who reads my blogs. I write them for me...and I truly hope/wish they help others, but this is my venue. Forgive me if I sound like a victim.

I am a fighter...just been knocked down pretty bad this time. I appreciate that some of you have stayed with me.

As If I Matter

My name is Cristina D. Johnson.

Since May, I've been overwhelmed, consumed by and obsessed with the debilitating grief over my break up of my five-year relationship, as well as the loss of every single "friendship" associated with that relationship. I've defriended at least 50 people from my Facebook page. My PTSD wreaked havoc on my life for the past year, but especially since May.

Being abandoned so young, I grew up with (and still hold to) this belief that I am nothing...worth nothing. I mean, really, if your own parents didn't want you, who would? Right? It started for me, so young (around age 3, when I was placed in a foster home), that it is an extremely deep-seated belief. "You are nothing" runs through my mind, every single time I try to wear a dress or put on jewelry. "You are nothing" echoes in my head anytime I go anywhere. Especially now...after the things that were done to me.

But that's not what this is about.

Today I was perusing my Facebook - which now consists of 127 friends - and I saw my name on someone's status - Robin - and she was commenting on how good a writer I am. "Just sayin'," she said in her status. I almost cried. Robin and I haven't ever really talked much - our sons were friends and her son was wonderful to my Trevor - and we got together a couple of times, but that's it.

But that's not all.

Ron and Cindy adopted me - legally - when I was 36 years old. Yeah, yeah I know it sounds weird - an adult adoption - and most people look at me cock-eyed when I tell them, but to me - at the time - I had no concept of family and in some way, I guess I was both fantasizing about having parents, and also thinking I was helping them. (So technically, my real name is Cristina D. Kuptzin-Johnson).

Anyway for awhile (actually for almost the entire time I dated "him"), we were estranged. Cindy and I texted occasionally but I stayed clear away from Ron. He was frightening to me. Very tall, domineering and intimidating. Much like my birth father.

In May, Cindy and I were talking (apparently, because I don't remember any of it) on the phone as I was heading to a motel to attempt suicide. Cindy showed up and found me, I believe. And "he" also showed up...I don't know who showed up when, but Cindy was there.

That's when our communication opened back up. Cindy understood - much more than "he" did - that it was not a suicide attempt; it was a cry for help...it was desperation, fear, pain...so many things but not a desire to die. (it's called Suicide Ideation).

As "he" went out and told everyone all about my disorders and attempted suicide, Cindy continued to talk to me and check on me, while he would yell at me or swear at me or mock my disorders, attempt to control me and constantly hurt me. While all this was happening, Cindy was there, always checking on me. Always worried about me. Like a mother, I suppose.

And, of course, there was Bill, checking on me and Hannah who was frantic over my well-being and irate over the way "he" was treating me.

But lately, as I go through therapy and work on myself, I am finding tiny little lights...little pieces of heaven.

Ron - with whom I have not spoke in over five years - has been quietly sitting on the sidelines, waiting for me to call the shots - as if I matter.

Cindy has been here every day, texting every day asking how I am - as if I matter.

Hannah texts me for advice or to see how I am doing - as if I matter.

Robin boasts about how good my writing is - as if I matter.

Nate and Derek help me with their knowledge because I have no idea what I'm doing with my whole website situation - as if I matter.

My cousins, Jan, Cora.... they reached out to me (Jan was even gonna visit!) - as if I matter.

My Aunt Neen encouraged me to keep writing, to get it out, to be strong - as if I matter.

Cindy came over today and cut Trevor's hair and watched (and helped) as I taught him to shave for the first time. She sat and talked with me for a few hours - as if I matter.

With her, she brought a box that had a small stereo in it that Ron sent, as well as some other things that he picked up for me at the store. As if I matter.

Officer Gingras knew what PTSD was and he helped me so compassionately, with such kindness.

And, finally of course, there's Bill who has been my rock, my best friend and everything I could dream of...been there for me through everything As if I matter.

Because my "You are nothing" runs so deep, the thought that I might matter, I might be important or valuable, is like (as I told my therapist) trying to get a rock to absorb water but I have to admit, these little pieces of compassion, acceptance, love...these kindnesses ....these small things (and big things) that you all have done, chip away at that rock and I want to thank you all.

Even though it aches, it's like pushing a sore tooth - it feels good, too.

Mixed Up

I don't even know how to start this blog. I've been through the wringer the past three months and it's just so tiring and exhaustive. I mean, when does it stop?

In May, when I was at my lowest possible point (which one would have to be, to attempt suicide), I was abandoned by the one person who swore they would always be there. I was having flashbacks and panic attacks daily. I was having black-outs and I was in therapy, working so hard to figure out how my past was affecting my present.

As anyone with any knowledge of or experience in PTSD knows, a perceived threat, elicits a strong response that is rooted in the pain or fear of the past. It's lightning quick. It's processed through the amygdala in the brain as a threat and the PTSD sufferer responds accordingly. For me, the responses varied usually either rage or pain but always rooted in fear.

After I was gossiped about and people were told my private business I was so humiliated and I became terrified to go anywhere. Even to the store. Even to the mailbox. And I needed a friend so bad. Ironically, I kept turning to him and he kept triggering, knowing he was doing it...knowing it was killing me.

In a PTSD crisis, every emotion is amplified and I begged and begged for compassion, but got none. I have PTSD mostly as a result of abuse from men - many men - and he quickly became an enormous trigger for me because he would say or do something nice, but then he would say or do something cruel - the same mixed messages my father gave me when he would vacillate between beatings and punishments, and molestation. I tried explaining this to him in an effort to - again - beg him to stop, but to no avail.

I got to the point where I was gagging every time I heard his footsteps, because I was so triggered. Eventually it escalated to vomiting, just from the overwhelm. At that time, I had nobody. Nobody I trusted. The only person who said she was my friend, was going out with him so I had no reason to trust her. And none of "our friends" ever once called or messaged me to see if  I was okay. Yesterday, I deleted most of them from my friend's list, trying to feel safe, trying to eliminate any connection to this person who hurt me so badly.

People come and go in your life - I know many have in mine - and this is my story and when people come and go in my life, they become a part of my story. When they inject themselves - in either good or bad ways - they are a part of my story.

For the past month, I have been blessed to have my best friend in the world - Bill - come help me. Although I have others - Cindy, Hannah, Howie, Ron (in the background) - who help as much as they can, Bill came and nursed me through some pretty horrific breakdowns. This is what I needed from the beginning - from "him" - someone who would help me and genuinely care about what I was going through. Someone willing to hold my hair when I vomited from sheer nerves. Someone who would wipe my tears or give me kleenex; someone who would take me places - anywhere - just randomly, to get me out of the house; someone who truly cared.

Bill has been a God send and has proven to be my absolute best friend, my right arm, my shoulder to cry on. He's been awakened in the middle of the night by crying and gagging and never once complained. Just asked if I was okay, turned on the light, lit me a cigarette and rubbed my back while I went through my painful attacks. Not a single time when I trembled went by, that he didn't hold me until the trembling subsided.

All of these symptoms have been exacerbated by the cruelty of others. And I am not claiming to be an angel, but I will say I tried my best - tried to make people understand, only to be misunderstood and judged. I'm not surprised by this.

Anyway, Bill left today........

He left for Illinois. This on top of a very difficult evening wherein I was forced to contact the police over all the BS going on.

Last night was supposed to be a sort of farewell party for Bill - although it certainly was no picnic. I cried a lot, shook a lot, plus had an anxiety attack in the middle of it all over other things going on. Couldn't eat the food we made. Just couldn't stomach it.

The thought of losing my best friend, the thought of not having someone here to help me through my attacks, frightens the shit out of me and I can't see what the future looks like.

One thing I have learned, though, is that Bill was always my best friend. Even through my relationship with "him" Bill was there - always. And when he got here, it was as if no time had passed at all. Same old Bill. Genuine, authentic, loving, giving, caring. He gave more to me in this past month, than I've gotten in the past five years from everyone I met and knew for the past five years, combined. In one month, he showed me more attention, affection, compassion and concern than anyone, ever.

I believe some people are simply incapable of that kind of depth. I've met them. I've lived among them. In a way, I suppose it's good that I had my own ...call it judgment, ratified. I learned that all the things I feared about the "thems" in the world, are true. And then some.

And I also learned who and what a true friend is. Anyone who knows him, is fortunate. He is the epitome of a good man, good friend, and good human being.

We both sobbed as he left today, even though eventually he'll be back. But one thing I know is this: Bill will always be my best friend. I miss him terribly.