This isn't working for me anymore. At least, not right now. I used to be able to just write here and then go live my life. I can't seem to do that. Everyone close to me seems to be in distress. I don't know how to talk about me when I need to listen to them. This week a complete stranger emailed and asked if I would talk with her as she works through her history of abuse. She says she's not asking for counsel or advice, she just wants someone to walk with her. She doesn't know that she's asking the emotionally crippled to run a marathon.

I'll talk with her. There just doesn't seem to be any other thing to do. If I say no, I'll feel worse. I feel very much like I have no more life in me, though. It's okay. I'm not going to talk about that again.

Because it's true

I've known this about myself for a long time. I've tried to articulate it to people. Some have allowed me space and made it clear they wanted me, even if it had to be on my terms. Others got tired and left, and that's good because I don't believe I've ever been comfortable with any type of intimacy regardless of how I might crave it. They needed to find someone who was not me.

Nine Ways Those Who Have Been Emotionally Abused Love Differently
by Marie Cyprien

Those who have been emotionally abused understand how much it changes you. Although the outcome of that change is different for everyone, there’s no doubt that such a traumatic experience can cause us to take a different approach to relationships:

1. We’re very gentle. We’ll keep our distance, especially in the beginning of the relationship because we don’t want to seem overbearing. We like to give the ones we love space to breath because we understand suffocation all too well.
2. We have guarded hearts. Our hearts have been tattered by our abusers, so they become as hard as a shield. But keep in mind that on the inside, our hearts are so soft and heavy, which is why...
3. Opening up can be an up in the air kind of thing...because once we open our hearts, we could end up creating a flood of emotions. It’s why...
4. We like to go slow...because we don’t want to reveal too much information that could possibly chase you away. So we take it one step at a time, becoming a little more vulnerable on the way.
5. We put thought into the relationship...because we’ve been told how much we get it wrong so many different times that just this once, we want to get something right.
6. We’re secretly afraid...because we can’t believe that someone as amazing as you can love us and we’re scared that it might just be a heavenly dream.
7. We can be very affectionate. We crave that cuddling and kisses on the forehead kind of love because it sheds away the fear and insecurities.
8. We’ll point out the toxic people in your life. We know the signs all too well and we will warn you because we don’t want you to have to go through the same pain we did.
9. We’ll always be there...because at the end of the day, we wished someone could’ve been there for us.

Therapist suggested it might help me understand what I need if I could articulate what the feelings I'm sorting through are, exactly--and also, what they are not--in this case, being completely clear about each feeling, itself, and also the value judgments that might be placed on it.

Paramount is the feeling of sadness. When I explain this to others, I receive in return a smörgåsbord of reactions which only serve to confuse me more.

What it is:
1. There is definitely regret linked to this feeling. There was a possibility of childhood friendships maturing into adulthood. The cousins in my family were very good friends and enjoyed a closeness that was delightful and joyful. This might have continued indefinitely. David's treatment of Jeff and me, and his attempts to molest still more of his cousins, destroyed that possibility. That makes me sad.
2. I have never been able to comfortably see someone in distress without feeling a desire to ease their discomfort. This is an impulse that is no respecter of persons. It happens with strangers and family members. But it is simply that--an impulse--a response to a situation. And it makes me feel sad.

What it is not:
1. This is not me saying, "Hey! I forgive you for raping the crap out of Jeff and me! Let's be buddies!" Not even close. I don't want to cultivate a relationship of any kind. I'm happy with complete disconnect from David. And whether or not I've forgiven him does not enter into the feelings of sadness. They're separate.
2. This says nothing about my character. I am not "heroic," as one person told me. I'm not special. I did not choose this. It just happened. I'm not kind, or amazing, or any other adjective one might apply. I am also not a freak, nor am I sympathizing with my abuser. I'm sad. That's all.

Accompanying this sadness is a great deal of distress and confusion.

What it is:
1. I'm experiencing something unexpected and uninvited. Given the circumstances, I expected to feel angry or vengeful. I didn't.
2. This is not the first time I've experienced this type of confusion. It overwhelms and sometimes immobilizes me. It affects the way I interact with and feel about the people who are closest to me. My emotions are unstable and I don't ever really know how I'll react to anyone or anything. It's a little bit exhausting and I'm experiencing a high amount of depression right now.

What it is not:
1. This is not an indication that I'm losing my mind. Once previously, I did end up in the hospital on suicide watch. Again, this is overwhelming and immobilizing. That's difficult to cope with. I don't believe anyone would welcome such a state of being. Sometimes I need help. I think it's okay that I went to a place where such help could be obtained when I needed it.
2. This is not s sign of weakness. Anyone can become confused--and I'm not looking for someone to explain how I should cope right now. That's something I need to figure out. And I will.

I suppose what I need are the following:
1. Time. I need to have time to think and cry and feel confused and sad. And I need time with people. That's a tough one. I'm working a lot of hours while Darrin searches for work, so I'm not readily available. And other people work and have limited time, as well. I might not be able to have this particular need filled, but it's important. I'm not sure how I'll deal with it. Right now I'm ignoring it.

2. Reassurance. I need people to understand that I'm doing all I can to make it through this. I need them to trust me to find my own answers. I need to be told that I'm still loved, and on days like today, and yesterday, and the day before, I need to know that I'm still important; that I have worth; that someone misses me because they love to be with me.

3. Empathy. I'm guessing most people look at what I'm going through and think I'm making a very big deal out of nothing. Yes, I had to spend my grandmother's funeral in the same room with the cousin who raped me - but I didn't have to talk to him and he never approached me. It was pretty quiet, all things considered. Yes, I had some weird feelings, but that was more than a month ago. Surely I'm over that now...except I'm not. Spending time in the same place as the person who raped me was more stressful than I thought it would be. Seeing him, hearing his voice...it was sort of awful. It could have been worse. It was bad enough. And as for the feelings, it would be nice to hear people say, "That sounds awful. I'm sorry you have to go through this. It must be really hard."

Because it IS hard. And it hurts. A lot.

4. I need a hug.

I'm not complaining. I know the stuff I'm going through right now is necessary and a means to an end. I understand that it's all part of the  package that is my life. And I like my life.

Still, I'd be lying if I said it was easy. And I'm having a hard time today. Sometimes I don't really feel strong enough to look at reality, work through emotions, and be me. That's all. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, just admitting that today is a little bit yucky.

I often worry about people I care about. I worry when they're sad or stressed or just feeling out of sorts. I worry when they have something huge inside or something overwhelming outside. I worry, I think, because I want what's best for them - whatever that may be - and I wish for them to have joy.

But every once in a while I have a day like today when I think, "I wish someone was worried about me."

Then I realize that's just silly and so am I. The day will pass. Tomorrow will be better. And I'll be fine. That's how it works. There is no reason to worry at all.

I've spent a lot of time during the past ten days thinking. During the month of June I had no days off. And there were too many days to count when I worked more than 15 hours. So Thursday night I packed my bags and left home for the weekend.

I spent time with my very large, very loud family. This does not seem like it would be restful, but I scheduled quiet time when I was alone - time for regrouping and more thinking.

As expected, the reunion with family had its ups and downs. That didn't matter.

I've realized that I've come to a place where I would like to allow friendships and even closer relationships in my life. I believe I've learned that I can trust - however, whether or not I will trust is still something I will allow only sparingly. I'm not ready for anything more. But I'm also understanding that if relationships with people become less close or transparent, I'll be okay. The need for reassurance and frequent connection has eased.

Therapist will tell me that's healthy and good. I'm sure he's right.

Therapist will remind me that frequent interaction between people who do not share a household requires a great deal of work and emotional stamina on the parts of both people involved. He'll say that sometimes one or the other won't be able to contribute what's necessary. He'll talk about being patient and forgiving and coming together again when the time is right. And I'll listen and believe him because again, he's right.

Finally, after a decade, I have figured out how to ignore the impulses and feelings that are the result of living with PTSD. The ones that tell me if someone really cares and wishes to have me in their lives, they'll work just as hard as I do to make that happen. I'm no longer heeding the voices that say I'm unnecessary or disposable. And I think I'm too tired to feel the intensity of emotion that has bound me to people but made me feel the relationship was unbalanced and that I was vulnerable.

I suppose I just feel calm. For the past few weeks I've sent texts that weren't answered and phone calls that weren't returned to a number of people with whom I have a close relationship. Therapist asked me how I felt about the silence. I surprised us both when I said it didn't matter. I further surprised myself when I explained that I knew those people had things going on in their lives and we had moved beyond the point when they could take time to be playful or responsive when I communicated with them. Therapist asked why I sent the texts and made the phone calls if I knew they would not receive answers.

It's a good question. A year ago my answer would be very different from what it is today. The truth is that while the sent messages and voice mails, no doubt, seem trivial and pointless to those who received them, I was including them in the little things. To me, that's when you really love someone - when you say whatever is on your mind whenever you want to because you want to share with them. Probably they don't understand that. Probably the messages from me are intrusive and annoying.

As I said, a year ago I would feel sad, wish things were different, try to figure out how to make changes so I could fee more comfortable and less vulnerable. Today, it doesn't matter. I cannot be anyone except the person I am. Which means I might randomly communicate with someone I consider an important part of my life regardless of whether or not they respond.

Therapist's next question: And how long will you do that without reciprocation?

Another good question, and not one I'm really going to spend time on. No doubt, at some point I'll take the hint and stop being so noisy, but I'm not going to do so until I can do it without feeling resentful or hurt. The silence on the other end has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them. Their lives are busy, or maybe I'm communicating at inconvenient times, or maybe they just don't want to play anymore. I'm okay with that. I've felt that way, myself, occasionally.

I came to this place once before, a very long time ago. I realized that my circumstances - the fact that I was largely ignored and clearly unwanted in my family relationships - were causing me to feel angry much of the time and always desperately sad. I didn't know how to obtain physical affection on a non-sexual level, so I avoided touch at all costs. My interactions with everyone were tainted by the knowledge that I could never invest in friendships or other relationships because I had no worth or desirability.

When I understood that I felt that way I was 17 years old. I looked in the mirror and said this, "There is nothing wrong with you. You're no uglier or prettier than any other person. You have a lot to offer. If the people in your life are too blind and stupid to notice, the best course of action is to find a place where, if love is not a possibility, you feel, at the very least, appreciated. But you can love people. You know how. So it's time to leave the place where you feel invisible and make a place for yourself somewhere else."

So I got a job a few hours from home, told my parents I was leaving, and I left. Within weeks I had made more than one wonderful friend, I was dating, and I never looked back. I lived at home briefly after my first year of college, but left again after two months. I needed to be where I could thrive.

I think I'm in that place again. I've become strong enough to weather whatever life throws at me. And while I'd rather do that weathering with support from people who care about me, if that doesn't happen (for whatever reason), I can do it myself. Being with my family these past few days has helped me understand, with clarity that has been missing from my life for quite awhile, that I'm resilient and I'll be okay.

So Therapist wonders if the texts and phone calls that received no answers were a test on my part-- not for the recipients, but for myself. I suppose they were. I was watching to see how I would respond. I was making sure that being ignored would not bring panic attacks or PTSD episodes. I needed to see exactly how strong I was. And now I know.

Therapist's question: Does this mean you no longer want to reach out to people or foster close relationships?

No. I've worked very long and very hard to build and foster relationships in my life. But I've also felt that I was being controlled by my need to have them and my intense fear that I might lose them. I'm absolutely willing to continue those relationships indefinitely, but I'm not afraid anymore. It's a good place to be. I'm loving the calm.

I spoke with Therapist on Tuesday. I didn't blog abut immediately because what he had to tell me wasn't necessarily what I wished to hear and I needed time to think about it. This is what Therapist said:

Sam, I've known you for nearly ten years now. Your reaction doesn't surprise me at all. In fact, it makes complete sense, given what I know about you. 

But it didn't make sense to me. And I wasn't sure I wanted my reaction, which confused and frustrated me, to be completely understandable to Therapist. I said (because I say it all the time-- it's my favorite question), "Why?"

You don't like to see people isolated or hurting. 

That's true. It's called empathy, I believe most people have it to some degree.

We talked about the sadness I've been feeling. I'm grieving, he said. because I recognize that the situation IS sad. David has no more support from his extended family. That's sad. He is in a marriage that is messy and unhappy. Also sad. He has a son who won't speak to him and a new grandchild he has never seen. Very, very sad.

But Therapist said that it's okay for me to be sad because I also recognize that this came about because of choices David made to harm people who should have been safe with him. I'm not trying to fix it. I'm just mourning what could have been. Our families could have shared a closeness and kinship that his actions destroyed. And he is facing that reality now. It hurts him and it's sad.

me: So what you're saying is that I just have to let this happen. Be sad. Grieve. Because it's sad, it affects me, and I just need to let the feelings happen.

Therapist: Sort of. Part of you wants to fix this. You understand that you could reach out to him and maybe ease the pain he's feeling. You've done it many times with lots of people. But you also understand that he's not a safe person and your boundaries do not allow you to be vulnerable with someone who has proven he's not safe. Part of the grief is that you recognize this is not something you can help or heal. There are a number of things that are sad for you in this situation. The grieving must take place because they are beyond your ability to change. They do not belong to you even if they affect you.

Things that affect me but do not belong to me. That's something I'm thinking about.

Also, letting grief happen which is yucky and really hurts. And I can't really talk about it because people immediately remind me that this is what happens when a person rapes kids.

Yeah. I know. But I've passed the "rapes kids" part and moved on to the "person" part. They don't understand that. I don't either. But the truth is that there's a person hurting, for whatever reason, and it's sad, and I can't help.

Why would you want to? they ask.

A very good question. Therapist says that impulse has nothing to do with my cousin and everything to so with me. It's who I am. It's an integral part of Samantha. I stayed in a home with an abusive mother and took the punishment I was afraid she would deliver to my younger siblings. Even when I had opportunity to go elsewhere, I stayed. And I didn't leave until I was certain they would be okay without me. He reminded me of the time I befriended a young girl who was abandoned by her parents and made her a part of my life-- and she calls me her sister today and tells everyone that I "saved" her. Therapist said that most of the people I love have, at one time or another, looked to me for comfort, support, or acceptance.

In my head, that's just how people interact. My story is not unique. People are. They connect with others. They help each other and fall in love. And when that process is stopped, it's sad.

Therapist says, no. He says people like me are important and that not everyone is like me and that's why I have trouble finding a listening ear. The impulse - even his own impulse - is to say, "It's about time the creep got what's coming to him." Therapist said he would not be surprised if my tears are the only ones shed because my cousin is ignored by his family and because he's sad. He said most people remember the reasons behind the current situation and are not bothered by the fact that my cousin is uncomfortable. Therapist says I am unique.

I think Therapist meant that in a kind way, but I'm left feeling that I'm a freak. Also, grieving is really hard and I don't like it.

Maybe I can talk with Therapist

When I become tired, everything is not awesome. And today I'm very tired.

I have been feeling increasingly isolated during the past month. This is no one's fault but my own. I've buried myself in work, taking on task after task, because Darrin is still unemployed and last week was his last paycheck. It also marked the end of our benefits.

When I get in this state, someone can send me every single flower in the whole world and tell me I'm amazing and loved, and I will not believe it. The feeling of being ignored persists - of being an afterthought, or only worth spending time with if someone wants something from me.

I'm doing my best to ignore all that. I know it's not true. Well, when I get through all this, I'll know it's not true then. Until then, I'm trying to remind myself that I'm tired and those feelings are not representative of, nor fair to the people who care about me.

Which just makes everything worse because I don't really want to be fair right now.

Yesterday was the day when I cry about everything from the color of grass to the fact that we sometimes eat meals.

Today I awoke feeling more empty that I've felt in a very long time. And alone. So utterly alone. Which was stupid because Darrin was right there.

So I contacted Therapist. Maybe he can help me.

We are well into the gorgeous summer days which remind me why I love it here. They're bittersweet this year as Darrin applies for jobs which will require relocation. And I'll be fine moving. In fact, I've always believed I would. Just not now.

Not now - because the timing is wrong. I'm contracted to teach next semester. Moving means Darrin will live one place and I'll stay here while I fulfill those contracts.

Not now - because in all the time I've lived here, finally, I've formed social and emotional support with people I trust. I'm sort of fragile at this point and not ready to venture into doing that again. Chances are good that I won't do it if we leave, no matter how much I want to. That sounds silly, I know, but if you have PTSD you understand completely what I just said, and if you don't, I simply sound churlish.

Not now - because I'd like my kids settled a bit more before we leave them behind. Tabitha and DJ will be fine, but Adam is still trying to regain memories of who he was before the migraine drug obliterated his persona. And he has no job right now. He can come with us, but he has a good therapist who has helped him a great deal. He's still dependent. He hates that, but it's true.

Not now - because I'm tired. I feel completely wrung out and every time I start to regain my footing, the rug is pulled from under me once again.

Things I don't need to be told because I've already said them to myself:

1. My attitude stinks. A simple change of attitude will solve all my problems.
2. This is an adventure. I like adventure. But the truth is that I like it when I choose it, not when it's forced on me.
3. A fresh start will be good for everyone.
4. Moving means I can throw away or use Darrin's collection of cardboard boxes residing in the garage where I wish I could park the car (no, I don't know why he collects them).
5. I need to have more faith. No doubt God has something planned...

But you see, I know all those things, but it's difficult to manage them when your strength is gone and your emotions are freaking out all over the place. And there are panic attacks. Let's not forget those. And nightmares.

6. I need to talk with Therapist.

It's on the agenda this week. I might actually be able to talk now. We'll see. In the meantime, the blue flax are everywhere, my roses are blooming, and my morning runs are incredibly beautiful. I hope we go somewhere with a lovely place to run.

Talking about things doesn't always make sense anymore. There was a time when it was crucial for me. Not talking led to the feeling that I was less, shameful, that if I actually spoke the things that were hurting me, I would be left alone. Talking about that helped me understand a few things:
1. I'm only one of many with similar experiences (in other words, there is nothing special about suffering silently).
2. Initially, when I am most vulnerable, there will be people who will take time to help me through the hard part. When I am stronger and need them less, they will return to the important things in their own lives.
3. Nothing that happened to me indicates shame on my part. Being defenseless is not a weakness, it's simply a part of being young and small. A person who takes advantage of one who is defenseless is shameful.
4. I am allowed to say the things that hurt. I may or may not find an audience for my words, but I am still allowed to say them.

My initial hope was that I would talk to a professional, there would be a "fix" for every problem, and all my past hurts would go away. I've spoken with people who have basically told me that was their experience. It has not been mine.

It's possible that I'm my own worst enemy. When one aspect of the trauma I experienced begins to feel better, I immediately identify and tackle the next one. Maybe I just need to stop doing that and be grateful for the progress I've made.

One of the biggest problems I have is that I function beautifully in a social situation, but I have no idea how to understand the emotional complications of close relationships. My impulse is to simply say the things that are causing me distress, or to enthusiastically crow my deep, loving feelings for anyone who is close to me. I've learned that most people don't do that, nor do they respond well to me when I do. These are the tacit rules for close relationships that I have gleaned over the past decade or two:
1. Ignore the small things. Pretend they will go away (they won't, but if you use your energy ignoring them, you can be surprised or uncomfortable when I tactlessly point them out and ask if we might do something about them).
2. You actually can tell someone you love them too many times. I'm not one of those people who becomes annoyed when it's said too often. I spent my childhood and teen years not hearing it once from my family. When I was 16 and 17, a few of my peers said it to me. Two of my teachers from church told me they loved me. That absence created a vacuum inside of me. I can never hear it enough now. Always it is welcome. Always it makes me feel beautifully happy. It is a mistake, though, to believe others will feel the same when I say it to them. They have boundaries. I'm not always good at recognizing those.
3. I should not scoff at the "Love Language" thing. It's real and it serves a purpose in close relationships. I was skeptical when it became a cool discussion item many years ago because in my head, everyone needs some form of touch, time, affirmation, service, and gifts from the people they care about. To identify a main one, in my mind, was to exclude the importance of any other needs a person might have. Shifting the focus to a main love language seemed like a bad idea. However, as I've come to understand myself better, I've realized that someone could send me a lovely gift, but if I've not spent time or talked with them recently, the gift feels meaningless. I'm just not a person who cares about "things." And unless I have time to connect frequently with someone, it's very likely that the other four love languages will have no impact, with the exception of touch which will probably freak me out and repel me.
4. I don't get to choose the way a relationship changes. Well, that's not true. Restated: I only get to choose 50% of what happens in a relationship.
5. Time and space in relationships are vital for some people. I need to respect that. I also need to understand that I probably won't know how to interact with them when they come back because I'm sort of broken. And they don't like to be told that. They want to believe that they have the freedom to come and go and nothing will change in my level of close feelings for them because that's how it works for most people. It makes people who have been close to me uncomfortable when I tell them I'm happy to see them, but I'm not really interested in frequent interaction with them anymore. I need to stop talking after the "happy to see you" part.

This is a crazy week for me emotionally. I don't know how I feel most of the time. It seems that when I decide how I feel, or what I should do next, someone surprises me. For example, on Saturday my life seemed to suddenly melt down. I couldn't stop panicking or crying or shaking. Eating was not happening. Sleep was not my friend. Life felt completely painful in every way. Therapist had told me this might happen. He suggested when it did, the I send a text to people who have been supportive of me in the past, just asking for some reassurance. Lame. I hate doing that. Saturday, though, I was sort of desperate.

So I sent the text to a few people, knowing that because it it was Saturday there would probably be no immediate response. When my phone rang a moment later I was almost too surprised to answer. I let it ring a couple of times, debating whether or not I really wanted to talk to anyone. Then I answered. And I had a really wonderful conversation with a person who allowed me to know of the things that were causing him difficulty in his life, as well as showing interest in the things that were bothering me - letting me support him as he did the same for me. That's balance. That's what is missing very much in my life right now. He gave that to me.

So now I'm sorting through stuff and trying to make sense of what's going on inside of me. I'm still too overwhelmed to really address anything, and if I'm asked questions I probably won't be able to really express the things that are painful and confusing. I tried talking with Darrin about it. Darrin is not stellar about listening without fixing or personalizing. It did not go well. So right now I feel a little bit isolated and misunderstood. When I'm done being self-centered and stupid, I'll probably stop feeling that way. Mostly, though, I need this week to be over, I need Darrin to get a job, and I need to go for a run. Right now.

"History...is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake." -- James Joyce

Last time I spoke with Therapist we talked about my nightmares. He asked me what happened in those. I said I didn't know. I didn't want to know. This was my lecture from Therapist:

"We've talked about this before, Sam. There are lots of reasons nightmares occur. Sometimes there's an external cause like being too hot or too cold or eating something that causes stomach pain or distress. But most often it's because there's something we're ignoring - something our brains want us to know or do or discover. As long as you ignore the nightmares, they'll probably continue. And that means you're not sleeping well, which means you're not going to recover and gain the strength necessary to deal with your insanely complicated life. I've been honest with you - I could not go through the stress and physical things you've had in the past few years without completely losing it. I don't think most people could. I don't know how you've managed to maintain your strength and sanity though all of it.

"However, you've been telling me now for about two years that the fatigue is getting to you and that you're very tired. This means you're vulnerable, and even if you are a little bit superhuman when it comes to enduring crap, at some point you're going to reach your breaking point, and my guess is that will happen when nothing is really going on - when things have slowed down and there are no suicidally depressed children, Darrin has a job again, and no one is broken or needs surgery. That's when you'll lose it. And it will be a simple matter of not getting enough sleep, or recuperative sleep, for a very long time.

"A lot of people who deal with nightmares keep a notebook by their bedsides. They simply jot down a few sentences about the nightmares when they awake. Then, after a few days (or even longer), they look at the things they've written and piece together what it is that their subconscious is trying to tell them. I think you should try that. And I think this might be a really good thing to focus on. I'm worried about the fact that these nightmares have been bothering you for more than a year now, pretty much without breaks. That's a long time, Sam."

So last night I didn't do the thing that I haven't been telling Therapist about where I actually CHOOSE not to remember my nightmares. I know the content. I always know. But who, in their right mind, wants to look at the details of the things that caused PTSD in the first place? I think most people want to forget, and to have different facets of it paraded through their dreams every night is miserable. Choosing to forget seemed a good course of action. I've gotten so good at it that even when I awake, drenched in cold sweat (or just before that happens so I can leap out of bed and spare the sheets), I have no idea what the nightmarish details are.

But I trust Therapist most of the time. So last night I shut off the forgetting mechanism and let the nightmare be acknowledged. I awoke early this morning, nauseated and upset. I didn't jot it down on a notebook. I don't need to. I also have no idea why it's relevant or what my subconscious is trying to tell me.

I spent the night with an older version of my rapist cousin. We were in a room with other family members and some of my friends. He sat alone and seemed to be trying to come to a decision about something. Then my dream slipped through a moment of time, as dreams often do, and he was sitting on the arm of my chair, talking to me. I was filled with the love and delight that I felt as a child whenever I was with my cousins. We were friends. We played and laughed together. I had no real reason to be afraid of David. Those feelings were mixed with the loathing and anger toward the man (and he appeared as a man in my dream) who raped me, who was sitting next to me and chatting as if we were old friends.

I moved to a couch with three other people. The dream slipped again and David had squeezed in next to me. Everyone on the couch made room for him. I felt panicky. He wouldn't leave me alone. But I said nothing.

When the dream slipped again I was in an empty house. No furniture and bare light fixtures exposed torn spots in old wallpaper. I knew David was there somewhere. I was upstairs. I couldn't hear him.

It would seem I'm still afraid of that man. But really, I'm not. The truth is, I don't believe he will ever approach me again. And should he decide to, I'm very good at telling people not to bother me. I would have no qualms letting him know that I have no desire to spend time with him at all. And should he press the issue, I don't believe I would have a problem defending myself.

I think the nightmares I've been having aren't about David at all, really. I think they're more PTSD related. As I contemplate the dreams, the feelings I have about him are annoying, confusing, and upsetting, but I think the really upsetting part is that I feel abandoned. My family is present in the dream, as are my closest friends. No one says anything when David approaches and follows me. They make room for him as he invades my space on the couch, and in the end I am alone in an empty, abandoned house, with my rapist cousin.

Do I really need people to protect me still? Does it bother me that I feel I fight this alone? Why can't I own this? I don't need anyone to help me. I've done the physical work necessary to keep me safe. I've done the mental and emotional work to move beyond the state I was in 10 years ago in regards to this. I've come to terms with the fact that I am not really a priority in anyone's life but my own. I understand all this and I'm okay with it.

So why am I still having nightmares? And maybe I'm misinterpreting all of it. Maybe there's something I'm missing?

I know. I need to talk to Therapist. But I want to wait until I can talk like a person. It's sort of ridiculous to go to someone for help if you can't tell them what's wrong.

There's something wrong inside of me. What has happened to my cousin-- being ostracized, ignored, even shunned-- this has happened because of his choice to harm and prey upon those smaller and unprotected. He raped me. He raped Jeff. He stalked my little sisters and tried to groom Jeff to join him as I was raped at night. We're not talking about someone who just made an unfortunate choice. David's acts were premeditated and ruthless. Not once did he think about the ways he was destroying his victim.

And I can't stop being sad that he's alone. He's a middle aged man no one wants. He came to the funeral without his wife. I don't even know if he's still married to her. David's sons want nothing to do with him. He has no access to his new granddaughter. My parents and siblings, Jeff's parents and siblings-- no one would even look at David or acknowledge his presence. These people are his family.

I know. He is reaping the reward of his actions. I know.

And still I feel sad that he is alone.

I'm messed up.

Girl Interrupted

Before I could begin with my grand intentions to finish what I began so long ago, my grandmother passed  away. She would be 98 next month. It was not unexpected. I wasn't traumatized by her death. It was peaceful and blessed and she is free from pain now. I am and always will be grateful to be her granddaughter.

However, her funeral meant that I would be spending an undefined period of time with the cousin who raped me. I've not seen him since I went to lunch with him about 8 years ago. At that time, I made no accusations. We did not discuss what he did to me. I simply wished to see him and stop being afraid of him. Last October, Jeff and I made a police report and David was contacted and interviewed by the authorities. As far as I know, that's as far as anything will ever go. But this meant that the funeral would be the first time I've been with David when he is aware that both Jeff and I have accused him, and I did not know what to expect.

I called Jeff and asked him to please be sure to join me at the funeral. He said he would. I called Therapist and asked for a pep talk and some reassurance. He did his best. I tried to make contact with a few people who would respond if I needed help. That was semi-successful. AtP checked in with me, but I was unable to talk because phone reception was spotty, at best. But it helped to know he was thinking of me.

Jeff was a mess when he got to the funeral. I suppose I was, too, but I suppress emotions. The messiness has yet to be expressed. I don't know how long it will take. Seeing David was distressing and upsetting. He did not approach Jeff or me. Smart man.

We spend a great deal of time with my extended family and with Jeff and his extended family. Under different circumstances, the visit would have been lovely. My sister, Lila, stole me away for a few minutes to ask some questions about how I was doing. I could only answer at the time, "I'm okay."

I'm okay.

But not really.

I find myself not knowing how to feel again. I'm angry again at David. I'm angry that he stole our childhoods and made trophies of us when naming his own children. I'm angry that he attempted to molest my younger siblings and who knows how many other children who are now adults without the words or strength to talk about what was done to them. I'm angry that he came to my grandmother's funeral and had the honor of being a pallbearer. I'm angry.

And I feel sad for David. He was clearly uncomfortable. Darrin suggested mean ways to make him even more uncomfortable. I stopped him. I reminded Darrin that I don't work that way. I'm not a bully. David appeared at the funeral in a new suit. I know it was new because he hadn't removed the tailoring in the vents at the bottom of the suit coat. So he stood in his new suit, looking for friends. He ended up staying only with his brother and parents, while Jeff and I were surrounded by people who love us and despise David. And I felt compassion for the person who raped me but cannot hurt me ever again.

I thought maybe I should talk with David. As I approached him, I felt such a wave of nausea and faintness that I turned quickly away. I didn't attempt approaching him again.

I don't know why I feel sad for my cousin. I don't know why I wished to ease his discomfort. I don't understand any of what I'm feeling. And all this serves to intensify the belief that there is something wrong with me. That I am somehow unbalanced. And I feel isolated and alone. How can I be loved and accepted when I have bizarre feelings like this? I can't talk to anyone about it because no one will understand. I don't understand.

I can't cry because I miss my grandma. I'm too busy crying because I'm so confused about my reaction to seeing David. And I don't have time for this. I have a huge work week beginning tomorrow. Darrin has two more paychecks and then no more. At the end of this month, our health benefits cease. I'm trying to work overtime to put some money aside, just in case no job has materialized at that point.

So I still intend to follow through on my goal to finish. I've just had a setback. It makes me feel stupid because I can't figure it out and move on. And it makes me feel sort of like I'm tainted again. It's an interruption. I need to not be interrupted like this.

Grand Re-Opening

I'm back. I'm not back because I miss this place and can't do without it, but because I'm finishing what I started a decade ago. I've realized that much of what I need to process and write needs to be placed here where it won't be accidentally found by people in my life who won't understand or might feel hurt by what I write.

My mother, for instance. Much of my healing requires me to look honestly at the things she did to me when I was in her care. I may have to express how I feel about that time and about her actions. I've come a very long way, and she, too, has made major changes in her treatment of me. But I still have to process what happened. It was damaging and harmful and it's time for me to finish working through the residue of those experiences. However, my mother has dementia. She remembers the things she did, but does not know how to deal with criticism. She berates herself endlessly and feels deep guilt. My purpose is not to cause her pain, but to ease my own in healthy ways. Because I need a place to write freely without concern about who will read my words, I have come here.

As I do this work, I'll not only be processing emotions from my past, but also trying to work through some of the relationship difficulties I've encountered as I've tried to form healthy connections with people throughout the past decade. I'll be acknowledging things I don't understand, and talking about failed attempts to learn the type of trust that allows those relationships to feel comfortable and comforting rather than stressful and frightening. Admitting those failures does not mean I'll stop trying. Probably I'll go to my grave still trying to figure out how to love someone and not be afraid. That's better, I think, than not loving.

Probably I'll be analyzing the quality of my love for others. Someday I would like people to feel that it's a gift-- something wonderful and worthwhile. That's how it feels to me when others love me. I need to figure out what it is about my love that makes it less important and unnecessary, and then I need to decide if I can make changes so that being loved by me is a more positive, building experience. Also, lest I am misunderstood, I am talking about Philia, not Eros. All of this, of course, has it's roots in attachment issues I've carried with me for most of my life and is deeply affected by whatever PTSD symptoms are occurring at any given time.

Finally, I'll be working through those PTSD symptoms. I am no longer able to function while just allowing the symptoms to happen and waiting until they are gone. Last October I found myself in a very dark place for a number of reasons.

1. My hip injury of three years ago and its subsequent surgeries and replacement had hampered my ability to use physical exercise as part of my PTSD management program. While I was still exercising and remaining active, that, of itself, was causing me more pain than I can think about. By October of last year, I was retraining, learning to run again, and enjoying freedom from pain. But the three years leading to that had taken their toll. It would take more than just running again to remove me from the dark place I was in.

2. My cousin, Jeff, had asked me in September to go with him to make a report to authorities about what our cousin, David, had done to us. This required a series of interviews during which I was required to talk about the experiences with David that led, ultimately, to his raping of me. I thought I was ready for that. I think, in some ways, I was. I think it was a positive step. But the timing of that step came when I was already in a great deal of stress over my teaching job (two classes: one with 150 students and one with 40, as well as a number of Murphy's Law occurrences in conjunction with those classes), still recovering from hip surgery, and dealing with reality that Darrin's job security had become unstable as news that the company he worked for had finally been charged by a couple of Federal agencies for tax fraud and other dishonest/illegal business practices.

3. My stress level had increased to the point that it was unmanageable. I was having panic attacks throughout the day-- some that immobilized me and left me feeling ill. Nightmares kept me from sleeping well. The classes I was teaching continued to be fraught with problems. The stress at Darrin's job escalated as the college he where he worked was sold, and uncertainty about his job increased as student enrollment decreased.

By November I was feeling mildly suicidal. This has happened before. I know the drill. I contacted a few of the people who had agreed to be support for me when those moments happened. Within a week, I realized that they had made that agreement with me years ago. Since then all their lives had changed drastically. They needed to concentrate on spouses, jobs, children, pregnancy, paying bills-- in short, they needed to be support people for themselves. It was unfair of me to ask additional support when their emotional resources were already stretched beyond what was reasonable.

That dark place became darker by January. I had hoped, with the end of the semester, that I would bounce back. Instead, I found myself feeling ill all the time. Eating caused me distress. Sleep was still problematic. I found myself waking each morning and wondering if it was all right to die that day. I spent some time with Therapist, allowing him to remind me of the things that I needed to do to return to a healthy mental and emotional state. The problem was, I was too ill and too tired to do them.

In February it was determined that my gall bladder was contributing to the feelings of illness I was having constantly. In March it was removed. I began feeling better in April, but still couldn't shake the death desire that seemed to haunt me daily. Then there were surgery complications from my gall bladder removal. My body decided it hated the dissolvable stitches residing in my abdomen. I was in so much pain that I ended up in the emergency room for treatment. My doctor told me that anything they did to try to alleviate the situation would actually make it worse - it's not like they could remove the stitches. That would require more surgery and longer healing. I was given strong pain medication and assured things would get better in a couple of weeks.

Two days later one of my incisions opened, and I began leaking fluid and blood. The upside of this was that my pain became significantly less. The downside was that, again, the only thing to do was to wait for my body to heal itself and watch for signs of infection. For three weeks I lived with that. What the surgeon didn't tell me was that the effort expended by my body to heal the wound would leave me completely exhausted. Also, Darrin was laid off. The mornings I arose wishing for death that day went from a few times weekly, to every single morning. I was distressed because of the physical problems I was experiencing, worried about Darrin finding new employment, and suicidal. On top of that, new PTSD symptoms which left me exhausted and feeling defenseless were manifesting themselves. I was in trouble.

Two weeks ago the incision healed. I was no longer leaking. Within two days my energy level had returned to nearly normal. On Friday I had my first run in years where it felt effortless and beautiful. And last week I realized I have finally regained some emotional stamina. No doubt it was gathering while I was concentrating on healing physically. Throughout the week I made some life decisions that had been put on hold.
1. I am going to finish what I started therapeutically.
2. I am going to learn some new strategies to manage my PTSD symptoms and implement them.
3. I am going to find ways to diminish or eliminate those symptoms entirely.
4. I am going to figure out how to lift myself out of the desire for death.
5. I am going to learn how to manage the emotional distress surrounding my relationships with others.
6. I am going to go back to school.

I'm expecting all those things will take another decade or two to finish. At that point, I'll just be old and no one will care anymore, but at least I know what I'll be doing for the rest of my life. :)

So this will become my therapy blog. I'll be logging my research, my strategies, and the results of my attempts to get better.

I'm also writing all this here because I need to track the suicidal feelings. I haven't established a live accountability network yet. I don't really know how to do that. Darrin's a little bit overwhelmed by trying to find a job, and I'm not excited about making new friends and then saying, "Oh, by the way, I have thoughts about needing to die, and some days I really want that to happen. So would you mind checking in with me every few days just to make sure I'm okay?" Yeah, that's not happening. But I'll work on it.

I'm putting this here because this is where it belongs.

Let's talk about Josh Duggar. And while we're at it, let's say a little bit about pedophiles, sexual abuse, and other topical delights.

First: While I do not in any way condone what Josh Duggar did, let's be real--it's not uncommon. It happens all the time. The only time we seem to care is when there seems to be a scapegoat we dislike who is the culprit. At that point all hell breaks loose, the media has a heyday, and everyone who feels slighted by the person takes potshots on social media. I've done it myself, no doubt, even if I don't remember when.

Second: I know this will sound weird, but I don't believe all sexual crimes are the same. I think there's a big difference between being fondled inappropriately by someone and being raped. Having been a victim of both, I'm only speaking from my own experience, but given that experience, I have to say there was a vast difference between the two actions and also my reaction to and the longlasting effects of both.

I've seen Mr. Duggar called a bigot and a hypocrite. Given his beliefs and some statements he has made about the LGBT community, those could be an accurate assessment of his words and actions. I don't necessarily disagree with them. Anyone who insinuates that someone from the LGBT community is a danger to children simply because they have a different sexual orientation or are transgender loses all credibility in my opinion. That's just a stupid assumption about a lot of people. Saying those types of things publicly is damaging and inaccurate.

I've also seen Mr. Duggar called a pedophile.

Let's talk about pedophiles. Years ago, for a therapy assignment, I did a great deal of research on the topic--more, probably, than Therapist wanted me to. And it was good for me. I learned that there are many men and women in this world who are sexually attracted to children. That was news. I also learned that some of those people do not wish to harm children by acting out sexually with them, that their lives are lonely and a bit tortured, that they feel incredible shame and depression about who they are. They see no possibility for a "normal" life, nor do they believe they will ever find a spouse or have a family. Having a family means having children which could be problematic for them.

On the other hand, there are pedophiles who believe that having sex with children is healthy; that parents should entrust their children to the pedophiles who will have loving physical relationships with them because that's the way it should be. If you guess that I disagree with this, you would be correct.

Those are just two representations of the pedophile community. There are, no doubt, just as in any segment of people, many different degrees and various levels of feelings of pedophilia. Of course, some will act on the feelings while others may not. But the point I'm trying to make is this: there is not a box that will fit every person in that community.

Moving to Mr. Duggar: I don't know that he IS a pedophile. From what I've read, the feelings of attraction to children do not go away. From my research I would have to say that pedophiles who act on the feelings end up escalating-- continuing to molest children, and they don't do it one time and stop. If, in fact, this was a one-time event in Mr. Duggar's life, I would have to say he doesn't qualify as a pedophile, but instead joins that group of children who are born into large, ultra-conservative families where sex is a bad word.

When families don't normalize discussion of all body parts, including genitalia and breasts, and questions about sexuality and sexual relationships are not welcomed, a weirdness about bodies and sex begins to develop. Children who cannot comfortably discuss such things with their parents and each other are more likely to yield to the desire to experiment, and they'll use the most vulnerable, accessible subjects to satisfy their curiosity. I target large families because many times younger children are left in the care of older ones, thus providing opportunity. Will all curious children take advantage of this situation? No, of course not, but some will. Usually this experimentation takes place between the ages of 9 and 14, and involves fondling the body parts of the younger child. It rarely goes beyond that. If it escalates further, then something more than curiosity is involved.

Josh Duggar's incidents reportedly occurred when he was 14-15 years old. That's somewhat older than is usual in reference to the above paragraph, but he also lived in unusual circumstances. I'm not an avid fan of his family's reality show, and I don't know him personally, but I'm guessing that frank discussions about sex didn't really happen in the family, regardless of the parents' obvious desire for copulation. Sex talk doesn't seem to be a topic in the series. It's possible that he repressed his impulses as long as he could and then hormones kicked in and he sort of exploded in a need to touch breasts and genitalia. But unless the behavior continued and is still going on today (and I have no idea one way or another), it's probably unfair to name Josh Duggar as a pedophile. And until more is known about his current sexual activities, it's probably unfair to call him a sexual deviant.

What am I saying? I'm saying that it might be a good idea to change the way we talk to our kids about sex. It's a good idea to talk about ALL their body parts from the time that they are learning to speak. Let them be as excited about having body parts that are protected and kept covered as they are about having hands and eyes and knees. I'm not suggesting that we change the words of "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes," but rather, that we address the fact that those parts exist and teach our kids how to keep those parts healthy, clean, and protected.

When it comes to talking about sexual interaction, instead of teaching the DON'T DOs, how about we just talk about it with no moral or religious agenda prompting our words? And not just about the physical act of making a baby, but about the feelings of attraction--why they happen, how they're helpful and appropriate, and what to do if you feel that way about someone and they don't feel it back. Kids have crushes on each other as early as Kindergarten. If they're not taught how to navigate their emotions, or what to call them, or why they have them, those can develop into feelings of shame or guilt which can cause them to later yield to an impulse that will hurt another child.

The society of fear that exists in largely conservative environments-- the one that says that if we give our kids information they'll want to experiment with it, is pointless. Clearly, they wish to experiment anyway. Lack of information just assures that those experiments will be conducted on those who have no means of protection or defense against them. Providing information means we can also teach our children to protect other kids. We can talk about when it's appropriate to approach another person sexually and when it's not. And if they need to see body parts, we can choose to show them realistic representations of the human anatomy, or they can wait until we're not looking and seek out the things that online pornography will teach them. The choice is ours.

What's to be done about Mr. Duggar? That's not up to me. But I think I'll not be throwing any stones. He's part of a huge group of adults who made similar mistakes when they were adolescents and teens. I know some people with past mistakes that haunt them, and I love those people. I wish things were different for them. But I also believe that Mr. Duggar will be better now that everyone knows. No more hiding and hoping the truth won't be revealed. Maybe he'll get become wiser. Maybe he'll educate himself about sex and real life and LGBT people who are everywhere and who make his life better even if he doesn't know it. Maybe he'll stop being afraid and talk to his own kids so they won't feel a need to repeat his actions on their own siblings and friends. Maybe.

We live in a weird world.

Mother's Day

This blog is finished.

But every once in awhile I need to write something that can't go in the blog I now use-- the one under my real name.

I used to hate Mother's Day. I think that's a common sentiment for many mothers. But my reasons for hating it were not because I felt guilt for not being the perfect mom. I've always known I wouldn't be-- I'm okay with that. My kids are alive and reasonably healthy. They think for themselves. They're creative and interesting. I don't need to be a perfect mother for them to learn to thrive as adults. I don't hate the day because my family has never pampered me or showered me with gifts. That's just silly. There have definitely been Mother's Days when I've guilted someone into loading the dishwasher. I think it's okay to play the Mother's Day card occasionally. Sometimes it's someone else's turn to do the dishes.

I can definitely do without the sentimental church sermons about saintly mothers who sacrificed everything for their kids. In my opinion, saintly mothers are unhealthy, and they pass along a message to their daughters that women come last. Parent couples who make sacrifices for their kids are fine. That happens. Sometimes a growing child needs pants that reach their ankles more than a grown-up needs a new shirt. However, a woman who ignores her own needs constantly is going to end up emotionally messy. I don't need that.

I don't hate the group gifts given in church-- the nasty chocolate or the flower that dies before it makes it home. The gesture is sweet and appreciated-- but also unnecessary. I'm uncertain why there needs to be a gift for moms taken from the ward budget, unless it's to apologize for the impromptu men's choir singing the same hymn as the opening song. That definitely needs recompense-- and no-- contrary to the remarks of the first counselor following that hymn, the Tabernacle Choir is not feeling anything close to competition with you.

I hated Mother's Day because all my life I hated feeling compelled to do something for my mother, who spurned every heartfelt offering I gave before I was old enough to hate her. Once I learned that hatred, Mother's Day cards and gifts became something I gave because it was socially acceptable, but heartfelt did not enter into it. I was resentful as I signed the card to the person who not only inspired my eating disorder, but who cheered me on as I starved myself. I wanted to vomit as I selected flowers for the person who screamed demeaning, hateful words at me daily until I left home at 17 years of age. I felt trapped as I made dinner to honor the person I deemed the worst mother in the world...

And then one day I stopped. I told my parents and siblings I wanted Mother's Day at home with my own family. I would no longer be making the dinner for the family Mother's Day celebration. I didn't buy a gift. Instead, I limited myself to finding the most generic card at Walmart, and I gave myself a budget of $3 or less. And sometimes I waited until Monday to deliver the card. I was done honoring the person who messed up my life.

Three years ago, I noticed the resentment waning. I think it was good for me to take a break, to admit that I was angry and hurt. I think it was healthy for me to stop channeling energy into doing what I thought I was supposed to do, and instead do only what I felt I could. That gave me time to heal, to think, and to observe.

My mom has been caring for her mother for nearly a decade now. My grandmother is a shell of the person she used to be. Two weeks ago she suffered a minor heart attack. I watched my mom as she sorted through distress, panic, and despair. I sat with her at the hospital and brought her dinner when she didn't feel able to leave my grandmother. I talked with her when she was desperate for conversation. I understood that while caring for my grandma has been a tremendous burden for my mom, it's also been the center of her life for 10 years. Some might view my grandmother's death as a blessed release not only for her, but also for my mom. My mother, however, sees it as a drastic change for which she is not prepared. And her brain has deteriorated to the point that it seems she might never be prepared.

Grandma came home from the hospital on Thursday. My parents wheeled her into church today in her chair, and I made room for her to sit next to me. I listened as she sang the opening and sacrament hymns in her old lady voice. And then I laughed silently and delightedly as she added her voice to the men's impromptu hymn, making that less-than-beautiful musical number absolutely amazing. When will I ever again hear my grandma sing "Love at Home," backed up by a men's choir of 75+ members?

After church I told my mom I would be bringing her dinner. My dad objected, reminding me that my body is still trying to heal a wound in my stomach. I ignored him. He objected more insistently. I said, "We'll be making dinner today, Dad. We're making a bit extra and we're bringing it to your house to eat it. You can join us if you'd like." My mom thanked me and added, "I'm really tired. I appreciate this."

Mom and Grandma loved dinner. And they loved their cards. Mom hugged and kissed all of us (weird-- that's not her norm, but her brain is going and we never know what she'll  do anymore).

Tonight I feel compelled to write this. My mother made some really, really awful parenting mistakes. Two of her daughters nearly took their own lives because of those mistakes. I will never say she was a great mom-- she wasn't. In spite of that, she did some good things, too. I think my mom wanted to be better than she was. She was hampered by a horribly abusive, alcoholic father who delivered the blows that now cause her brain to slowly die. She lived daily with depression and felt shamed and guilty because she had no help as she waded through the darkness of each day.

But as I watch her care for my grandma, I remember that my mother took care of me when I was sick. She fought for me to be promoted to grade 8 when my own depression caused my attendance and grades to drop drastically in my first year of junior high. She came to every performance I played in-- and there were many. I am a musician, after all. In her own way, perhaps in the only way she knew, she did what she could in spite of her own mental and emotional distress.

There are days when I become caught up in the misery of my childhood. I feel sorry for myself. I wish better things for the child who was me. But I can no longer do so without wishing for a sweeter, less violent, more loving childhood for the little girl who was my mother. I cannot weep for myself without adding tears for her. And as I watch the tenderness she gives to my grandma, and I see my mother's need for tenderness, as well, I believe that I have the power to stop blaming-- to stop withholding love-- to allow the past to be what it is and create a present and future free of resentment and anger.

Every person's story is three-dimensional, and as my life intertwines with my mother's, who is to say where one victim ends and the other begins? At some point I must admit that we have both done our best in the life circumstances we were dealt. Sometimes our best was pretty awful. That's inevitable. But I believe my childhood was better than my mom's, and my children's were better than mine. Progress takes time.

It IS progress, though. I know this because this year Mother's Day brought no angst or frustration. I enjoyed the flowers and fun gifts from my husband and kids. I felt no need to incite guilt in the other adult residents of my home as I spent the morning loading the dishwasher and cleaning the kitchen. And for the first time in many years, I spent time with my mom because I wanted to. I provided service because she needed it and I love her, which proves that even the oldest, most stubborn dogs really can learn new tricks.

And now, once again, I'm hanging the "Closed" sign on this blog. Feel free to visit me at my other one where I don't talk about this kind of stuff, but I still talk about the things of life that alternately delight and frustrate me. Or don't. I've heard that blogging is dead. :)

Taking a deep breath

I'm supposed to be writing a lesson plan about Bartok and fashioning it so that it can be delivered by one of my graduate assistants in class on Wednesday. I should have had it to her last week. However, life got in the way and I didn't. I've promised it to her tonight. It will be delivered on time.

For almost a decade I've talked in this blog. There was a time when I wrote nearly every day. I had been silent for a very long time. It was as though someone opened the floodgates and from that point, the words would not stop.

In the past three months, however, I'm feeling a need to stop talking. This is not a churlish desire to garner attention-- I really don't want that. I am uncomfortable in the limelight of my own story, my own thoughts. I have always believed that what I say has importance to me, alone.

My conversation now, has become a recitation of my experiences teaching classes this semester. I hide behind those words. What I want to say will not come out. Something stops it. The days of being open, of sharing who I am, seem to be coming to an end.

I could blame my busy life, except that in the past decade I have made time to practice closeness with other people, and my life is no busier now than any other time. I could blame stress, but I have definitely had more stressful times. I suppose the truth is that I'm just ready to stop talking.

There have definitely been some events that have led me to this place, but those are really irrelevant, and very likely foolish imaginings on my part. Regardless, in looking at the whole picture, silence seems the best course of action.

And so tonight, to any readers who have come and gone, and to those who valiantly remain, "In case I don't see you-- good afternoon, good evening and good night."

I am funny, and fierce, and very tall.

I am feeling fierce once again.

That sounds weird unless you know me. It used to be a part of who I am. I was fiercely determined to do what was necessary to have joy and beauty-- always. I was fierce about loving people and defending them. I was fiercely loyal, and energetic, and successful. And I was tall, too.

Okay, that last part is a lie.

But then I got tired. Life threw me curve balls faster than I could catch them and throw them back. I am lamentably horrible at softball (much to the chagrin of my people). All the routines and coping mechanisms and peaceful moments were stripped away, to be replaced with pain of all kinds. I felt helpless and defeated. Life felt too difficult to live.

I'm still tired. I still feel defeated. But creeping back to me when I least expect it is that fierceness that was a normal part of my life a few years ago. And what that means is this:

1. I will not allow myself to quit. It doesn't matter how tired I am, I will finish what I started.
2. I will not be used by other people. I will interact. I will support and care, But I will have healthy boundaries.
3. I will not be a convenience, nor will I be an incidental occurrence. You will adore me and I will adore you back, or I will treat you courteously, as I do my business associates. The choice is not yours, nor mine alone, but belongs to us both. Whatever the outcome, I am finished feeling that I am at the mercy of another person.
4. I will be healthy. Now that I have complete mobility back, I will stop feeling sorry for myself and take care of my body with its bionic hip. I will be better, faster, and stronger.
5. I will enjoy the moments of my life, or die trying. They only come once. Even the nasty ones go away at some point.
6. I will allow happiness. For me, happy is a natural state of being, but sometimes I squash it out of spite. It's time for that to stop. I'm being churlish. I like being happy. It's time.
7. No matter what comes in the future, I can manage my attitude about it. And I will.
8. If you are someone I love, I am going to love you like crazy. Get used to it and try to enjoy it because that's not going to change. Don't even think about making me stop loving you.
9. I need flowers.
10. And chocolate.

There is a very good chance that I'm finding myself once again. And that's a good thing, because I'm a pretty terrific person. I laugh frequently (and sometimes inappropriately), make terrible jokes, smile perpetually, and give hugs spontaneously. Sometimes I make up superb recipes. I can misquote nearly anything that was ever written. I don't ever get earworms, but sometimes I get hiccups. I have enormous energy. I love to dance, do cartwheels, read, and make music. If we play a game, there's a good chance that I'll win. If we go on a walk, I'll drive you crazy every time I stop to look at the flowers, or the birds, or the bugs. Perhaps, now that I'm rediscovering myself, you should take a second and discover me, as well.

Muddling

It's getting too cold to run outside in the mornings. I'm toying with the idea of a morning gym visit (weights and treadmill) and a short evening run, just to get some outdoor time every day. The air is amazing this time of year, filled with the smell of late autumn flowers and fallen leaves. I need to be in it.

About two months after my hip replacement in February, I found myself feeling hopeful, looking forward to the future, planning things I wished to do. Probably it was because the pain of deteriorating bone was gone and I felt better, even if I was really tired. Being hopeful is a good place to be.

Last week I realized I had lost much of that feeling. I had mentally and emotionally canceled plans for friend visits and online time. My bucket list became nonexistent. The birthday party I had been thinking of throwing for myself next year was no longer a possibility.

Still, I'm giving myself props for going there in the first place. Especially when it comes to the birthday thing. The fact that I even considered it is sort of amazing.

Tabitha is unhappy with me. She asked me what I'll do if I stop dreaming. It's a good question. But I have a lot of books to read and endless music to memorize. And I'm going to admit that I'm going through something very emotionally painful right now. I believe in a month or so it will feel a little better. I think I'll feel hopeful again when that happens. Maybe I'll make a new bucket list.

In the meantime, I think it's okay to pull back. I've been reaching out a little bit, but some of my attempts have been ignored to the point that probably I need to admit that I've gotten the message and just stop. I don't want to. I want to believe that it's always okay for me to contact someone I love, but the realist in me understands that that's not the truth. Sometimes it's not okay.

So I'm finding different venues to channel the things that make me sad. Some of them are less healthy than others. I'm human. Sometimes I do stupid things. Life is not always perfect and I am doing the best I can.

Good Things

1. I haven't talked about this here because I didn't want to talk about it at all. But about a ten days ago, while visiting Utah, my mother fell down a large flight of stairs and ended up breaking several ribs (three are free-floaters), shattering a vertebra in her neck, and getting a concussion which included a small subdural hematoma. She was in critical condition for three days, but was released from the hospital last Friday. If all goes well, she'll get to travel home on Thursday this week. I've not been able to talk with her yet (my free time is nonexistent so I can only call in the early mornings and late at night when she's sleeping), but I'm given frequent updates from my dad.

2. My niece is having a baby girl today.

3. My aunt, who has been waiting nearly five years, received a kidney transplant this morning. She's doing well.

It's beautiful today. Even if it's cold, I think I need to go for a run and enjoy it.

A long time ago there was a David in my life. He was young. He spent time with me and with my family. We loved him. I believe we love him still. But one day things changed, he became unhappy with me, and he stopped being in my life. For awhile I contacted him intermittently. I wasn't sure what had happened, but wanted him to know he was still welcome. Then one day David emailed me. He told me all the reasons he was upset with me-- all the things I had done wrong. The things I was accused of were inaccurate assumptions made unfairly by him. I was understandably distraught.

Tolkien Boy was with me when I was reading the email. I shared parts of it with him. Then I read the email again. And again. Tolkien Boy said, in exasperation, "Why do you keep reading that? It's poisonous and ignorant and wrong!" I remember trying to tell him why. I remember Tolkien Boy turning away from me in impatience. I remember feeling unhappy that two people thought badly of me.

Today though, I know why I kept reading. I knew then, too. I just couldn't articulate it. The ideas were still fairly new to me. They're not anymore. They began long ago with this conversation:

me: Tolkien Boy, what do you do when someone is in your life, but you don't want them anymore? Or maybe you never wanted them, but they're just there. If they cause you distress, or they bother you, what do you do?

TB: Well, that doesn't happen often. I mostly like people

me: But what would you do? How would you ask them to leave?

TB: I wouldn't, probably. I think I would just avoid them whenever possible until they stopped coming around me.

me: Maybe that's what most people do?

TB: Maybe.

me: Tolkien Boy, I need you to promise me something.

TB: What's that?

me: Never do that to me. If the time comes that you don't need me or want me anymore, I need you to tell me. I think I deserve that. I've been in your life for a long time. I won't understand if you start avoiding me. It will hurt a lot and for a very long time-- so much more than if you just say it to me in words. Being ignored and avoided by people I love is something I used to deal with all the time. I don't want to do that again. I need you to tell me.

TB: Well, it's never going to happen.

me: Maybe not, but I still need you to promise me.

TB. It's a needless promise, but if it makes you feel better, should that time ever come, I will tell you.

me: Thank you.

I suppose when the email from David came, there was a part of me that felt used and angry, but there was another part that felt incredibly grateful. He told me. David took time to let me know that he didn't want me anymore. I needed that to happen. It was essential for me and allowed me to grieve, heal, and move forward.

Darrin says most people would probably rather be avoided. I've been encountering a number of situations lately where people have avoided or ignored me. I'm clearly not most people. The sting of those situations cements more soundly inside me that I don't want to be with those people anymore. At all. I would rather spend a day with David, knowing how he feels, than seek out those who don't tell me with words, but imply with their actions. Those actions leave me feeling powerless and confused. I don't feel that way with David. I know exactly where I stand. That's important to me.

Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers...

This morning a hot air balloon, complete with enthusiastically waving riders, floated over the house across the street. Not something you see every day.

There have been a number of large changes in my life over the past few months. Some of them (being able to run again, for example), have been very good. Some have been less so. I'm beginning to understand more about my role in the lives of others. I'm also understanding that I can be a bit demanding and exhausting. I've been scheduling more of my time offline and avoiding my phone. I think this will become my norm, at least until I can adjust to some of the social changes in my life.

Autumn has seemed to last forever this year-- a good thing in my book. We saw the first leaves changing around Labor Day. Fall color usually lasts about three weeks here. Today I'm still looking out my window at the orange leaves on my crabapple tree and when the sun rises while I'm working, my neighbor's tree, seen from my front window, glows golden. I'm not sure why the leaves have stayed, but what this means is that everywhere I look is beautiful.

Flowers are still blooming. Temperatures dip into the high 30s at night, but soar into the 70s by mid-afternoon. I usually wait until 8:30 a.m. to go running because at that point it's usually close to 40 degrees. Coupled with our intense sunshine, outside feels cool and warm at the same time, and that's a pretty perfect running condition.

I have library books that are overdue. I keep getting hate-emails reminding me that after three weeks they can send me to collections for the value of the books and I'll have to pay $10 to reinstate my account. What they don't realize is that I'm challenged by their threats. I keep reading my overdue books because a) I want to see if I can finish them before the three weeks are up, and b) part of me wants to know if they really will send my account to collections. I have one book left. Wednesday marks the three-week deadline.

I'm wondering, as I write this, when mid-semester hits and if I have to turn in grades soon. I'm not curious enough to check the calendar or my university email.

I've heard nothing about the ongoing investigation of my cousin for about a month. I'm hoping they're finished with it and they don't need me anymore. I'm pretending that's what has happened. It makes me feel better.

The birds have commenced flying into my front room windows. It's an annual fall event. We notice the thumps occurring regularly, usually in late September, and by mid-November I have to clean the down and other bird leavings off my windows. Darrin blames the apples we leave on our tree. He says they ferment, the birds eat them, then fly drunkenly into our window. He could be correct. I don't think about it that much.

I've been treated to gorgeous sunrises nearly every morning for two weeks. Sometimes I stop working and just go outside to watch. On warmer mornings, I watch them as I run. I've heard that intensely colored sunrises are harbingers of oncoming inclement weather. Thus far, that has not been the case. I would be fine with another couple of weeks filled with the golden days I've enjoyed throughout October.

When things happen that upset my world a bit, my impulse is to close my doors, talk less-- or talk more about things I don't care about. I'm wary about sharing anything close to my heart. This happened last summer and has continued into the fall. Part of me wonders if this is just who I am-- another part of me feels that it doesn't really matter. People aren't really clamoring to find out what I'm thinking or feeling. Perhaps, when all is said and done, relationships and human interaction are based solely on time and vicinity. When time becomes precious and distance looms between two people, love really doesn't make that much difference.

I think that next year I will plant flowers, herbs, and tomatoes again. It will be the first time in three years.

"Like" this post...

Facebook makes me tired.

Well, let's be real about this... pretty much everything makes me tired lately.

I've come to understand that when it comes to pop culture, or socialization, or politics, or religion, or trendy food/styles/music, or lifestyles, or wisdom, or friendship, or pretty much anything really-- I am not enough.

I don't feel passionate about most things. It's not that I don't have opinions or ideas, I've just lived long enough to understand that shouting my ideas to anyone within earshot (or who can see my Facebook post or Tweet or Pin) keeps me from hearing what anyone else might be saying.

But maybe that's the point. Maybe those people who say inflammatory things about sexuality and marriage and religion and Twinkies and disposable diapers don't want to hear what anyone else says.

I do, though.

Watching people I know and care about write gloating or caustic things about my beliefs is difficult for me to process. I don't write things about their beliefs. I don't press "like" when someone else does. I suppose if I feel passionate about something, it's that people have the right to believe as they wish without being mocked or bullied in a social forum.

It's an unpopular belief. VERY unpopular. I still feel it passionately.

Seeing posts about extreme political views or reading comments that are hateful or blatantly bigoted-- posts and comments that originate from people I care about deeply-- well, that simply makes me even more confused. I want to support them. They're my friends and sometimes my family. But mostly I don't agree with anyone.

Feeling isolated on Facebook is a very odd concept.

I write posts about funny things that happen to me or something beautiful I've encountered. Sometimes I laugh at myself or wonder what to make for dinner. Occasionally I whine because my life feels a little bit overwhelming or painful.

Why did I join Facebook in the first place?

I thought it might keep me connected with people I care about. I wanted to see pictures of spouses and children and friends and loved ones. Sometimes I play Scrabble there, and other stupid Facebook games. There are times that I read posts that make me laugh. I hoped I would feel closer ties to people I care about.

I don't though. The photos are still fun. I like reconnecting with people from my past (actually-- that was a therapy assignment). But I find myself hiding posts that feel hateful, or that diminish parts of my life that make me who I am, or that just make me wish I'd never read or seen or encountered whatever topic might be screaming at me from my computer. Mostly, at this point, it's very clear that Facebook is a way for people to say, "Look at me! I'm here! and I can scream my opinions so very loudly that I'll never, even for a moment, hear the words you're whispering! They (and you) don't matter! The only thing that matters is that I get to talk about the things that make me angry/passionate/frustrated!"

I'm not a screamer. I would love to have a conversation about the things that are loved by the people I love. But a conversation is not a placard on Facebook. It's intimate and involves sharing, and it is only through that type of interchange that people understand what makes another person beautiful.

I'm too tired to participate in the scathing words. I don't have the stamina to fight over whether or not I believe things that are right or wrong. I despise feeling that I no longer have a right to decide what I feel--that I must jump on one bandwagon or another and original thought is no longer valued.

Perhaps it's time to unplug.

Letting Go

Sometimes it helps to talk about things here. And I've sort of been doing it in conjunction with this topic for about 8 months now-- since I noticed a shift if a few of my closest relationships. People were moving on and I was not.

However, right now I want to just say this: I've been working on letting go for awhile now. It's been difficult, but Therapist helped me figure out what I need to do. He said I could wait until I was ready, and that I could rant all I wanted. He said it was okay to wait to see if the changes I sensed were real or not. He said I would be okay.

The emotional things I've been working on are almost finished. Most of what I've gone through emotionally is deeply personal and not really something I want to talk about in depth. But Therapist is right. I will be okay. I always am.

Things I miss now that all I do is lesson planning and grading (in no particular order):

1. Cooking with AtP and Brozy. And trying crazy foods with them. And laughing just because it's fun to be together.

2. Playing with Boo and her daughter-- and husband when he's around (I believe it's way past time for another REALLY AWFUL movie night).

3. Meeting people I've spoken with online. This happened a lot at Fob and Blue-beta get-togethers. Those particular social events don't happen anymore with regularity, but when I crashed them, I met some pretty amazing people. In fact, it's when I met Edgy and fell in love with his shoes.

4. Shopping at ghetto Walmart. And if you've ever gone with me, you know why.

5. Looooonnnnggg conversations with Josh, when we both have things we're supposed to be doing but we want to talk instead.

6. Tolkien Boy's writing. Sometimes I miss this so much I pretend write things that he might write. They're never any good, so then I have to go back and reread some of the things he's written that he's shared with me.

7. Chatting with friends online. I can't do it anymore. Part of this is due to a PTSD phobia which I hope is temporary, and part of it is because if I chat with anyone, I stop doing the things I'm supposed to do.

8. Friend gatherings at restaurants. Just because they're fun. And sometimes Brozy sneaks in delicious homemade desserts and shares them with the wait staff.

9. Lunch with Edgy. I miss this. A lot.

10. Alone time with all the people mentioned above.

There are also people I've not been able to spend a great deal of time with-- but I want to. I want to be able to miss them, as well.

Waiting for Therapist

I have a very good therapist. I know there have been times when I've poked fun at him, or been angry at him, but I'm aware that he is probably the best fit I could have found when it comes to therapy.

I've also come to understand in the past couple of years that he cares about me and he admires me for taking on the task of healing, sorting through all the yucky stuff, and enduring and growing beyond much of the aftermath. It's weird for me to think of him as a person with feelings. I have a very clinical view toward him. He serves a function. He gets paid. It is in his best interest for me to make progress. That he can feel emotions about me, or view me as more than a statistic or just another client, has been beyond my understanding.

This is partly because of my own social interactions. I have students. I have clients. I care about them. I'm interested in them. And then they go away and I don't really think about them anymore. At all. I suppose that's how I've believed that Therapist thought of me.

When Therapist took a different counseling position two years ago, he was required to refer all his former clients to another counselor-- which he did-- except for me. Therapist asked for, and was granted, an exception and allowed to continue working with me. Therapist told me he asked for that exception because:
1. I was no longer meeting with him frequently so my needs would not exceed his ability to provide therapy as needed.
2. He felt that, for me, having to find another therapist when I was fairly stable and self-reliant would be either completely overwhelming, or I would simply decide I no longer needed therapy. And he said I could be right about that last thing, but he was concerned that I have a therapist should my PTSD become unmanageable for some unforeseen reason.
3. He said it's actually kind of rare for clients to do the things their assigned. Many of them simply want someone to talk to, and they leave each session feeling stable, so they see no reason to do work that might make them feel worse. He said that working with me was good for him. It reminded him that some clients will work hard. Some will experience healing. Some will learn to thrive in spite of curve balls and stressful situations.
4. He said he'd miss me. Which, he added, is not a reason to continue therapy, just a personal reason he wished to continue as my therapist as long as he was needed.

I have worked with Therapist for almost 10 years.

When my life became unmanageable this summer, a number of things added to my stress. Key people who have been supportive during the past decade of my life, also encountered things that needed their undivided attention. They had to take care of what was going on in their own lives, and they trusted me to take care of what was happening in mine. Which should have been fine. I'm fairly resilient and even when I'm knocked down, I usually find a way to get up again, with or without support from them.

Except this was more knocks than I could handle. Major surgery (weakened physically), combined with encountering by crisis after crisis as I tried to prepare for teaching classes in the upcoming semester (weakened mentally), while being confronted with having to talk about being raped by my cousin in an official capacity (thus, weakened emotionally)-- I just didn't have what it would take to continue once the semester began this fall. I became very unstable. I have been unable to manage PTSD at all. I'm experiencing severe panic attacks that leave me vomiting and exhausted. And I have been severely depressed and suicidal.

Therapist, aware that I was in extreme distress, turned the tables on me the first week of September. Knowing that travel added to my stress, he drove the seven hour distance to see me, rather than vice versa. He met with me on his own time (Sunday evening), for more than two hours. He helped me put a plan in place-- asking people to check on me fairly frequently for a couple of weeks. And we talked about strategies I could use to cope with my stress load.Then Therapist continued to check in with me, himself, during that time period.

That was about four weeks ago. Things haven't gotten better, but they haven't really become worse, either. I'm still experiencing debilitating panic attacks, but I'm learning the best places to stop and puke if they happen while I'm driving. I don't really sleep because continuous nightmares are not pleasant, but I take 20-minute naps during the day when I can. I've not been able to sort through dealing with the changes in my personal relationships yet, but that's not really an optional thing because changes are happening regardless of my ability to deal with them. At some point I will figure out how to manage the feelings that arise because of those situations.

I don't know what will happen with the case against my cousin. I realized I'm still afraid of him in some ways. I don't want to be a witness at a trial, should that become a reality. I don't want to answer questions or be put in a position where I feel I have to defend my story. I don't want to think about this at all.

Things at work are stabilizing, but I still have a great deal to do to catch up. I normally have all my lessons planned out before the semester begins. Because of what happened with a bogus textbook and sound equipment woes and unexpected, time consuming distractions, I didn't have those prepared this semester. I'm slowly getting ahead, though. At some point I'll be able to take a weekend off.

I had a phone session with Therapist this week. He told me some things, some of which were helpful, and some of which were just sort of interesting:
1. He was surprised, given what I've been through in my life, that the severe panic attacks had not been an issue before now. He says that speaks of my ability to manage stress, my emotions, and use positive coping measures when difficult things happen.
2. He said I am capable of rising above whatever is happening right now. We talked about worse-case scenarios. Therapist said there is really nothing that can happen that I do not have the ability to sort through and deal with on my own terms. I may not like it, but my capacity to find joy regardless of my situation, surprises him constantly.
3. He said I see myself as dependent on others, and that might happen sometimes, but for the most part I am able to take care of myself independently. I don't always choose this, because I enjoy the people in my life and I like inviting them to be involved with me, but I don't need them. I just want them.
4. Therapist promised me that the depression and suicidal thoughts are temporary. I'm already seeing a lift in that they are no longer constant and I have fluctuations of happy and sad throughout my day. He said those fluctuations will feel less extreme as time passes and soon I will feel level and lucid, once again.
5. He said he would continue to check in with me until I am no longer "at-risk". I asked what that meant. Therapist said it means "until you know what the outcome of the investigation/case is." He said at that point everything else is just life, and I'm very good at dealing with life.
6. Therapist told me that no matter what the people I care about choose, in regards to depth of feeling toward me, frequency of contact with me, and amount of involvement in my life, I will be okay. He reminded me that for a long time I didn't have people who were close to me, and while that's not optimal, I know how to manage that situation, and further reminded me that this is something over which I have no control. Again, I would be okay.

Therapist is right. Most of the stress I feel is because things in my life are not as I wish them to be, but not because I can't manage what's happening. I don't want the difficulties that have cropped up in my classes-- but I do want to teach the classes. I will cope with the difficulties and I will teach.

I don't want to answer questions or be interviewed about past events that still cause me discomfort. But I want to tell the truth, and if it's determined that telling my story is necessary, I will cope with the discomfort and I will tell my story.

I have worked through a great deal of anguish as I've allowed people to become close to me. It has been exhausting at times, and painful, as well. I don't want to let those people leave to take care of the stresses and demands of their own lives. I wish them to remain connected and involved with me. But I also want them to be happy, and if happy means that they need to step away from our relationship in order to cope with what's happening in their own lives, then I want that, too. Because really, the reason I wanted them in the first place is because I love them deeply and purely and honestly. They need to do what is best for them. And I will be okay. Therapist has promised me that I will always be okay. It's who I am. It's what I do.

So right now I'm dealing with a whole bunch of I-don't-wants. Today, as with many days before, is daunting and a little bit overwhelming. I'm feeling some things I don't want to. I'm currently immobile when it comes to doing what I'm supposed to do for work. But Therapist will check in with me in about three minutes. He'll remind me that I'm very good at what I do at work, and when I'm finished with my to-do tasks, I'll feel better. He'll assure me that I can contact him if things escalate and I feel out of control. He'll remind me that he cares about me, has faith in me, and admires my ability to deal with difficulty. And he'll say something to make me laugh.

I'm very lucky to have him in my life. I think he'll stay awhile because, after all, this is his job and I am a golden client. Even if his life gets busy, his involvement with me helps pay the bills. I'm not being cynical, just realistic. People stay with the people who benefit them the most. Right now, for Therapist, I'm beneficial. I think he'll stay.