More Pale as Night detail

"Pale as Night" Assemblage Art by A.M.Murphy

Leaving Panic, Finding Inherent Emotion

I met with my Social Security Disability appeal lawyer, yesterday. It went...surprisingly well. I had to locate a never-before-visited building, office and parking spot, and meet with a stranger I had procured on the internet. Granted, I had taken my mandatory, anti-anxiety med the night before, but really, I was unusually, pleasantly calm and put-together.


 As I attended my meeting, smart phones sounded flash flood alerts throughout the office. Previously, upon hearing such alarm, I would have grown considerably nervous and agitated and tried my best to shorten the meeting and scurry home. Alarms, warnings, senses of impending danger Used to put me in quite a tizzy, but not yesterday. I was able to carry on with the Q and A, filing out of forms and asking sensible questions. All This whilst being soaking wet from head-to-toe from being caught in a sudden, treacherous, lightning filled downpour, on my walk to lawyers office.
 I did very well.
 Only upon reflection today, have I realized how very much about me has changed.
I think that all the heavy-duty, gut wrenching, cathartic therapy sessions have had quite an impact. Suddenly....panic, that constant, crawly sensation always lurking somewhere, barely out of sight, has diminished. I felt okay, nay, rather well amidst such upheavals and stressers.
  Looking back at therapy, with the getting-in-touch-with and releasing of ancient, half-buried emotions that have prevailed these past two months....has released some of the panic, anxiety, hurt and pain that I have carried with me for over 40 years. Therapy has changed me, freed me and allowed me to dump burdens, garbage, tainted feelings, that had been impacting my daily life.
 It's like...how to say?....getting in contact with the earliest, oft strongest, emotional traumas and memories, has greatly impacted, benefitted the system, me, as a whole. Like, I was born with inherent emotions of joy, happiness, sadness, grief, hunger....and they all got ...surpressed...locked in. By talking and turning the key, releasing through talk and emotion, I am getting back in touch...with the genuine, real emotions I was born with...Before They Got Skewed. Make sense? Think about it.
  Every child, or most children, are born with the standard set of emotions...and I was. The early, per-verbal abuse..entangeled and distorted....broke apart these essential emotional elements. But they still existed...way down deep, under the heaped upon crap....and Therapist and I have discovered them...I should say Recovered them.
 This is a really huge concept here. It just dawned on me today after therapy. Yeah, I talk about shit and it starts to make sense, to fuse into useable form:)


 One other point, which carries enormous weight, is I have almost finished my very first art assemblage creation.....in many, many, many moons. My creative room, in my head, finally got a door and the door opened. I am full of ideas and never enough time to art. That, arting, has frequently played a crucial role in my overall emotional, mental and physical well being.
 My arting process, is also, very different...much more relaxed, less confined, more spontaneous and free flowing. I don't have to work at it....it simply flows...as if the creation has always existed in my mind and all I need do is physically put the pieces in place. The barriers of self-regulation, right and wrong and shoulds have vanished. I go at my own pace and know what looks and feels right..with ease.
When it is complete, I will post pictures. It's truly a joy.
And joy? Feeling happiness? Since therapy today. And what did we deal with in therapy today? Hmmm...a very young time in my life where I was pretty darn happy and content.
It seems like every "little" item we touch on in therapy...gets born into reality, effecting all my daily living, almost immediately.
Ahhhh, the walls came tumbling down. Pause to take That all in. Shit, makes perfect sense. In the past week, I have changed Tremendously. It could be permanent, semi-permanent, or fleeting...I'll just have to wait and see.
It's...okay to feel happy. It is my inherent birthright. It is quite an odd, light-hearted sensation. Without bravado, I feel confident in my self, in my own abilities. It's not a cakewalk....still dealing with the ups and downs of everyday life. But it feels manageable.
I have this...very odd sense of stability that I have never experienced before. It's new, but not really scary....I was born this way.....just got lost and messed up along the road.
Hmmm...interesting.
I'm okay:)

Anger melts

On feeling trapped, Finding Therapist

...such a hideous, painful subject....I can't decide whether I am torturing myself...or working, desperately to heal. I venture down this road.
 There are times my autism traps me. And times when survivor instincts do the same.
 For reasons unknown, tonight I was thinking (by the way, I am Always thinking) about one time, in particular. I cannot remember if I have ever wrote about it. Not sure I've even ever been able to speak about it. Here goes.
 Weeks, not months, after first starting to see Therapist....I made a mistake, an innocent mistake that most people wouldn't ever concern themselves with. The simple act of remembrance brings forth such trepidation and angst....
 I showed up for an appointment, with Therapist, an hour early. When she opened the door, she kindly told me to come back in an hour.
 Upon saying that to me, wherein I realized my mistake....it's like I could feel the blood drain from my face. My body grew cold. I was mortified. Before I even had time to get out of the waiting room, amongst the blaring of alarm bells ringing in mine head, I knew that I could not return...not in an hour, not the next day, most likely never.
 I tore out the door. I never feel trapped outside. Sure that I could never return. The dilema deep and dividing. Uncertainty, what do I do? For I honestly wanted to return, but I could not get past this.
To want something and not be able to have it. I deeply wanted to return...but could not. I couldn't even explain my actions. I watched the minutes tick away on the clock...knowing, full well that when my appointment time hit, and I wasn't there, that I had...yet again, sealed my fate....And I Did Not Want it to be so.
 I was frustrated, heart broken and grief stricken...highly disappointed in my self and in my actions....And the not knowing, comprehending the why of such a simple act of showing up had turned impossible. It hurts me deeplydeeply when I err. I get consumed with embarrassment, mortified...I felt positively mortified as if I had lost all credibility as a person. Undignified and blighted, scorned.
 I was a mass of walls, breaking...emotion, internal, raging...feeling trapped. I had gone mute on the subject. Everytime I thought of it, my mind went blank for it was too much for me to deal with.
 Beating my head against invisible walls. I had liked going to therapy and now, now, somehow, someway, I would have to find some courage to start all over again, roll the dice, with some one new.
Yeah, I was very upset. That day, thinking it had ended. I had failed.
 But, here's the thing....the thing I started thinking about, that made me want to write to try and figure out....Therapist wrote me. (she may have called, but I forget) And, get this, she apologized for the way she handled the misunderstanding. WTF? I was stunned. I was sure the letter, upon seeing who it was from, was a bill for the missed appointment. And, What? Really? She wasn't angry, pissed off or irate that she lost that hour to nothingness? This was surely weird. I still couldn't talk...to her. I remember leaving her two or three or more messages of a few words that I was able to speak, telling her I couldn't return.
I had never met anyone who had to work so patiently and damned hard...to try and help me. Seems like they should just run the other way. Hmmmm. She was holding out an open hand. I'd heard about them, open hands, but never dreamed I'd ever experience one, fer sure. Wow. Still stymies me to think about it. And, back then, we hadn't even touched on the dissociative issues. Hmm. Not sure why this strange person would want to help. Why would anyone think I was worth a shit.
And I'm not even exactly sure how I ended up back in her office. I will blame the poor memory of dissociation and MPD on that one:) cause I'm honestly not at all sure.
I Do remember that an appointment was made....and I had to continuously talk myself through the steps of getting ready to go, getting in the car, driving over and sitting in that infernal waiting room again, hoping I had the time right.
I had spent at least the day before figuring out what I was going to say, how I might possibly explain my unexplainable actions, and I played through arouse storylines of...what if she asks this? Or what if she brings up that? My different responses. (it's an autism thing, not a manipulation thingy, as I previously thought. I try and figure out possible questions and answers beforehand.)
I waited to enter the waiting room, out in the car, so I wouldn't be forced to sit there, get cold feet and bolt. Yeah, I have been known to be a "runner", taking off at quick speed when thoroughly overwhelmed.
And, and, um, I made it in through the first set of doors..gee, I was so proud of myself...the shaking steps...and then in to Therapists office, terrified inside, throwing up walls and defenses. But I sooo wanted to be there, seriously.
Um, and I fully expected her to want to discuss "the missed appointment incident"....but, get this...she didn't say a word about it. I kept waiting for it, the entire hour, but it never happened. Yeah, pretty damn shocked, again.
I think she just started off by asking how I was or some such generic, nonjudgmental thing. Weird, huh?
I'm not even sure why I'm writing this. Maybe I got tired of hiding my "terrible crime." Naw, part of it is....I'm beginning to think Therapist...just might be real.
Why did she do that? Why would she go that extra couple of miles for such a fucking nobody? When possible redeeming value could she have ever had a hint of, in me? She may be real. Hmm
And, um, I can't everever recall being able to get untapped, like that. Sure, I had the same helpless feelings before, where I could not get out, myself, no matter how hard I tried. God, that is one of The worst feelings, helplessly trapped.
I needed...I desperately needed help, someone to help me....and it actually happened. Someone could see I needed assistance, someone willing to come pull me out of the muck, and it actually happened. Hmmm.
That..has to be one of the coolest, most touching things I've ever experienced. Yup, I kept the letter, held onto it. One of a kind. I guess I wonder what possessed her to send it, you know? I'll probably always wonder, but I can accept it.
I think we have grown and changed a ton, in the year and a half we've been seeing Therapist.....and to think I was so close, no, damn certain, that we could never return.
She just might be Real

Processing Therapy

Lately, it seems like, a lot of therapy time is spent saying things that no one ever heard...no one ever listened. It's about speaking the unspoken hurts, physical and emotional.

See, progress...the two, physical feeling And emotional feeling, can oft be found in the Same room. That is new.

I know it's healing, but it is exhausting.

Hmmm, speaking the unspoken, validating feelings, making it real. Feeling less invisible and a bit more put together.

And Yeah, completely exhausted:)

I Feel in Pictures, visual thinking

Or rather, I can tell you how I'm feeling in metaphor. Today, as an example, it feels like "there are so many doors, and all the windows are locked." (The doors are consecutive, one right after the other....like my therapists office...four entire doors to push from office to out)


 Meaning...I'm feeling kinda trapped and to make any progress will be arduous.
 Therapy today, was soft. Still not sure what that one means.
I see pictures in my head, of objects that represent my feelings, emotional state, subconscious and conscious. Some people can flat out tell you how you feel. My brain sometimes works like that....but words are abstract. Symbols and objects are concrete. Yet another reason that writing is really positive for people with Aspergers. Putting words to the images, and getting a handle on the ever present confusion of mind.
 I'm just sayin.
I used to call it, "talking in riddles" because it boggled me as to why I would say, seemingly senseless things. My speech is quite unique. I'm not purposefully trying to confuse anyone, or myself. It's simply how my very cool brain works:)

Therapy was....

a really soft place to land, today. And, yup, I have no idea what that means, but it's the phrase of the day....and a summary of our session

If you loved me....

Art is the Only Thing that can Save Me

Thyme and Me

:)

From Together We Heal

Waiting To Be Found.

As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (CSA), I have been searching for sometime to figure out a way to summarize the challenges survivors face. But due to the levels of pain and varieties of struggles each individual confronts, it seemed like this wasn’t possible. That is until I was watching, of all things a tv show, when I had a moment of clarity. A young lady had been kidnapped and was all alone. While listening to the dialogue of the actors and imagining how a real kidnap victim must feel it hit me like a ton of bricks…

The loneliest feeling in the world…is waiting to be found.

And there it was. My own personal struggle was wrapped up in that one, simple but excruciatingly painful statement. Survivors of CSA know this feeling. We live in constant fear of people learning what we are currently going through or have been through. We live in perpetual terror that our deepest, darkest secret will be exposed. Our fear, shame and guilt is compounded daily in our hearts, it weakens our spirits and like a weight, its sits on and sinks into our thoughts – emotionally, mentally and at times even physically. It feels like an wrecking ball holding us down, preventing us from moving, from doing anything or going anywhere.

The tv show I was watching showed the kidnap victim left to die, held down by spikes in the desert, hands and feet bound to those spikes. She was all alone, in the middle of nowhere, with no help in sight. And during this time, she had no idea if she would ever be found, or if she would die alone, with this horrific secret.

And in that story is the analogous representation of the degree of despair felt by survivors of CSA. We have that same sense of abandonment, of being all alone, all the while, we need and we want more than ANYTHING, for someone, ANYONE, to FIND OUT and to FIND US!

In its simplest terms, what we need is much like the moment a child has a parent rip off a bandage from a banged up knee or elbow. When a band-aid is pulled off it hurts like hell, but then when done, there is this immense sense of relief. And the growing sense of relief is so much more powerful than the instant moment of pain. Thats not to say we don’t get that band-aid ripped off over and over again when we relive the experience by telling our story, or testifying in court or being deposed, but by engaging on a healing path, we can find a way to move froward productively. Just as a survivor feels extreme emotional trauma in the moments/hours/days surrounding the time people learn the truth about their abuse, once the initial pain subsides, the healing can begin.

I know I have said this before, and I’ll continue to say it until there’s no breath left in my lungs. If you are or have been a victim of CSA, reach out now. You are not alone. You may have been left in the desert, but you now have people looking for you and available to help you. If not with TWH, find someone, some group, somewhere. They are all around and willing to help you. And may we all find the peace we deserve.

Copyright © 2013 Together We Heal

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August 12, 201315 Replies

Friend, Freedom, The Aloneness

Sigh. For two days, I went DID and Autistic free. We really are what we tell ourselves we are. And I held tight to those labels. I sought freedom and changed my thinking and it's direction. I forgot about the memories, the people, the neck pain and being autistic. Freedom. I focused on the present...eyikes...and it was nice.
 Today, I awoke with Lyme exhaustion and an intestional virus, falling back into escape mode.
The issue of communication, of having no friend, no one to talk to resurfaced. Each person in my household seems tightly wrapped in their own angst. It's stifling and oppressive. Lots to want to escape from. Impossible to find someone to listen and hear. And my body not well enough to go out.
It's the daily battles that wear you down the most.
 I was denied disability and need to hire an attorney and fight. I was optimistic, but realistic. Be nice to have income. Maybe not meant to be...like such other things.


 Want therapy to be tomorrow, but it's days away. Trying to find methods and means to cope. Pass the Valium and crack open a beer. At least you get unfiltered honesty....it seems rare to find honest.
 I accomplished some goals. Dragged my beleaguered body to places it needed to be. Doing my parenting to my best. LittleGuy is down sick, as well, so he requires more care:)
  The aloneness ...has always been there, as long as I can remember....some days it's just harder than others. Varying degrees, you know. It feels dehumanizing...the inability to connect. Can't remember the last time I had a good friend, confidant, ally. The older I get, the more physical ailments keep me in the house and down, the less likely the possibility that friendship will ever happen. The older I get, the more realistic I become. Some might say "cynical"...I say self-aware and realistic. Need more obsessions and special interests to focus on...take my mind off the hurt stuff.
  Writing about it, doesn't change it...but at least maybe someone else can hear me and understand.
 The sea of loneliness is a cold, dark place. It's like beating your head against a wall...minus the wall. It's falling down with no one to catch you. Falling into emptiness. It's walking under a starless night with a broken flashlight. It's sitting and making barbed wire, just to keep yourself occupied.
 It's always cold. Loneliness is always cold.
It's an empty plate at a table set for one. It's a hunger never fed....a thirst never quenched.
It's being at the party and no one knows you're there.
 Shouldn't I be enough? Shouldn't I be all I need? Isn't it rather unfair to be trapped within oneself and have desires of communication and communion?
Methinks so. Methinks it thus.
Some secret fantasies....will never come true.
Just doing my best. Sharing my vex.

Photo of the Day

My parents house....

A Favorite Adage

Sharing a thought

Found an app whereby I can use my own photos and overlay text:)
Watch out....you may find out what I really think

Therapy Today

I actually had a pleasant therapy session, today. It was nice to get away from the traumatic, tumultuous memories of the last month. Dealt with present day stuff. It was nice.

Every now and then, therapist says something I don't want to hear (off-topic, sensitive issue, etc). I tell her to stop. Even something so small as saying "stop" And having someone Listen, is very very powerful to me:) it's a new thing. A new opportunity to feel like I have a say and a vestige of control.

 I'm glad she does that. Glad she sometimes says too much. It's another small step for me in regaining self-esteem. 

Therapy was pleasant and nice. Glad I went:)

Will I ever be able to trust again, being a parent

Few can comprehend the fear I feel, dropping my nine year old off, by himself anywhere but home. I had to take him to vacation bible school. I dropped him off, with all the other kids. Then I froze. I couldn't leave. I stood in the back and just watched.
I saw all these adult "church" people but I didn't see Christians...I saw perpetrators, vile, evil and laying in wait.
How will I ever know that it's okay to leave him with Anyone? This summer, LittleGuy has been at my side all season. I haven't left him with anyone other than Partner and Eldest. Now, the very thought of walking him in to a brand new school, complete with every adult being a stranger to me, I'm fucking terrified.
Oh, yeah, brief spells of "home schooling" flash through my brain. But this...this fear of mine, stemming from the fact of my incestuous, abusive upbringing....would only be belayed. It will still exist. He needs to go to school. I need to figure out how to deal.
I hate to even acknowledge and write about something so near. I open myself up to nothing but criticism and ridicule. Am I an overprotective mom? Absolutely, and with damn good reason.
I learned not to trust adults. Why should I change that thinking now?
I Know the Numbers. I know the extent to which some adults commit crimes against children. It's Not Uncommon!!
And I'm fucking helpless, helpless to protect my sons. Short of bolting the lock on the door....damn.
I don't want them hurt. And there is no guarantee anywhere, anyway. It seems so futile. Miserable...I'm so miserable, my god, I can only hope the next life is better.
Frustrated and angry. I wanted to punch out the big, stupid dad who took his kid out of class to yell and belittle him for misbehaving....the kid was acting like a five year old kid. Yeah, I'd beat the crap out of him and feel better about myself until the handcuffs went on and it's ride in a squad car time.
Some days, it's just not good for me to leave the house.
Definitely a bit more fired up, these days. My tolerance for ignorance and stupid Is Way Low. Working on keeping impulsivity in check.
Yeah, I have acupuncture tomorrow and therapy, all the way to Wednesday. Keeping my mouth shut and my fists to myself.
You know what chaps my ass....people avoid you if you look sad, frustrated, lost or mad. Fucking emotional retards. I'm standing in the church, not feeling well at all, distress hormones reeking from me. I'm in a fucking church, where the people are supposed to be a cut above, kind, caring....but no. I didn't care what they thought of me, odd parent out, standing alone in the back, on the verge of tears, arms folded, unable to leave. People just kept walking on by, avoiding eye contact.
Shit, and I have to do this again every night this week.
I watched LittleGuy, sitting there...all alone in his row. And he was okay with that. He enjoyed it. He participated.
I looked at the adults...who is going to watch out for his welfare? Do any of these people have criminal backgrounds? Does anyone check?
Isn't that what abuses do....look for the single kid, the one on the outside?
Arrrrgggghhhh
This sucks, sucks, sucks
And look at these other parents gleefully leaving their youngsters. Who is right? Who is wrong? Who is ignorant?
Yeah, I've got issues

Pariah Solitary Living the Autistic Life

A

pa·ri·ah

\pə-ˈrī-ə\

noun

• 1 : a member of a low caste of southern India


• 2 : one that is despised or rejected : outcast

Examples

• I felt like a pariah when I wore the wrong outfit to the dinner party

Origin: Tamil paṟaiyan, literally, drummer.

First use: 1613

Synonyms: castaway, castoff, leper, offscouring, outcast, reject

Sometimes. I wish...others knew...the solitary existence of the autistic life. The sense that one is different, indifferent, trapped behind an invisible barrier.
Pariah, avoid, go around, don't approach
Living in the bubble, small, safe, confining, self-actualization bounces off the walls, unable to leave...to venture...to partake.


The strange world...always out there...somewhere, beyond reach and comprehension.
Within, working to understand the flecks of feelings, emotions, oft only realized once they grow and loom large, overpowering.
Predators lurk, outside. Appearing as innocent as bystanders.


The separation, the barrier...never leaves....just lowers for short spells.
Pain isn't "valid" unless it can be put into words and understood by self or others....therefore we feel naught.
Confusion. Yet another tangled web, and another, and another.
Streamers, like flypaper, catch, hold
Walls ebb in, flow out, constant movement but forever there
There is no room, in here, for anyone but me....no other fool dare get so close.


Walking, numbing, the treadmill of my mind.
The only thing real is touch....sometimes even that hurts
The sensors forever searching, feelers, antennae, small hairs, reach, analyze and let go. What is it I forever seek?
Slow down, turn off, isolate, drift away. The boat has no oars, and I care not.
The running in circles Stops. The reaching out for drifting anchors Stops. The praying for rain Stops. I've learned that adrift is best.....the path of least resistance....smallest pains


I drift
I stay afloat
To escape the bubble, the glances, judgements, confines of normality, the senselessness of it all......I am


adj.
1. Existing, living, or going without others; alone: a solitary traveler. See Synonyms at alone.
2. Happening, done, or made alone: a solitary evening; solitary pursuits such as reading and sewing.
3. Remote from civilization; secluded: a solitary retreat.
4. Having no companions; lonesome or lonely.
5. Zoology Living alone or in pairs only: solitary wasps; solitary sparrows.
6. Single and set apart from others: a solitary instance of cowardice.
n. pl. sol·i·tar·ies
1. A person who lives alone; a recluse.
2. Solitary confinement.

Rough Day and other stuff

Just found out we have the NFL channel, so I'm watching the Colts vs Buffalo Bills. Watched my fav, Detroit Lions trounce the Jets, last night. I like football.

 Yesterday, mostly, I didn't know what to do with myself. I spent hours trying to fix these long fluorescent lights, up high in my kitchen. Seems like I should know and be able to change them. Didn't realize that I hurt my neck, head and shoulders by using my arms above my head. Woke up in neck distress. Trying to take the right meds, so I can move around and get things done. Need to get to the grocstore, get coffee and a newspaper and I'd like to pick up the place. Right now, sitting waiting for my neck to feel a little better.

 I'm looking forward to acupuncture, Tuesday. That usually helps me.

 The boys are doing really good, being helpful and playing nice.

I got some new fun apps on my iPhone this week. I can track the International Space Station and I got to see it fly overhead two days in a row. I was surprised how Big, Bright and Fast it was.

 I got more space apps! I can check on sunspot activity, the phase of the moon and a great star chart. Yup, I'm a science geek. Also picked up a decibel app, so I can measure loudness. Lets see, I also have an NFL app, so I know what time the teams are playing and the latest news.

 I kinda started a new blog, just for my genealogy. I need one free and public place for all my research and information. I have tons of info I need to organize. Figured the blog might work.

 Can't really do anything physical, at the moment. Boys and I need to get to the store. That's my big plan for the day.

 Still sleeping lots and having terrible dreams, mostly involving old bio family.

  Hoping to feel better soon. Rest and football for now.

Why I Didn't Tell...surviving child abuse

*Trigger Warning High*
 There always seems to be an adult or two, that simply cannot understand why a child doesn't tell someone about the abuse they endure. One, very effective reason, is that perverts, perpetrators use threats. This is the topic I will be writing about.

 It has recently come to light that when I was eight years old....my dad and I went to his mothers house, whom I refer to as the evil, paternal grandma, who also went by the name if "Manna". (Manna is Not to be confused with my kind, loving maternal Gramma who passed away last year.)
 Manna, like her son, was pure evil, very cruel. Anyway, my dad had....illegally bbgunned down a couple of rabbits on the city's west side, near Mannas house. Like a proud little kid, dad brought them over to show manna, and to...."clean and dress" them so we could eat the next day.
 Manna was old Polish school and had a meat preparing table in the basement. There, they would clean fish, small game, make homemade sausages, etc. There were even a few heavy duty butchers aprons to don.
 I'm not sure I want to write.....maybe just the basics.
 I remember being eight years old and Manna held a long, sharp....skinning knife pointed at my throat.....she said something like....if I ever talk this would happen to me, in reference to the job she had just done on the small game.
 The image of my manna standing over me, in front of me, teeth bared in a smirking threat, knife in her hand, inches from my throat.....priceless. This image surfaced yesterday at therapy...and followed me home and kept me up last night. It appears and faded throughout the day. Processing.
This memory very much relates to my throat chakra. Think about it...on some level, I have carried this memory of manna, knife at throat...in my mind or aura, for over forty years. That's a helluva emotional block.
 Yesterday was the first time it was ever spoken, revealed and dealt with. It may be responsible for some of the speaking and neck problems I've had so long. Funny, yeah, a large degree of my neck pain ....isn't now there, as it was yesterday before therapy. My physical conditions.....seemingly solid, are not and come and go in minutes.

 It was very emotional at therapy yesterday....veryvery. And physical....spastic, hitting things.
Logically, I know manna and dad cannot hurt me, as they are both cold dead. I feel....somewhat okay talking to Therapist about this.
 Hmmm, there are so many reasons kids don't talk...often involving the throat and neck. Like when my dad would have a strong hand on my throat and make threats. Yeah, kids generally believe the threats.
 Coconspirators...that gets me...it always gets me when I find out someone else knew and approved of the incest, the abuses. It was me against the world.  My own grandmother...sell me so....so coldly and with full knowledge of her crime.
 This helps me understand why manna alwaysalways made me uncomfortable.
 I don't want to write so much now.
The implications...diffusing this vivid memory, is what we work on now. It explains why knives have always scared me, just big ones. They'd scare me not like I might accidentally hurt myself....but like it was a reminder she might hurt me. And she can't now.
 It's hard to...take a step forward, because that memory occupied space directly in front of me, if that makes any sense. On some level, it has always been there, effecting forward movement and speaking.
 Funny, I slept hard, for hours this afternoon....I had the strangest, most vivid dreams involving family and me telling them off, can't remember confronting  and expressing myself so much verbally before.
I'm exhausted. Feels like a truck half ran me over yesterday. Processing. Lots to contemplate. Making progress. Another step forward.
Be well

Big Day Today

In about an hour, I drive 30 miles to meet with a psychologist for an exam. This is to help Social Security determine whether I'm disabled or not. I'm quite nervous. I have to find the building (I have a map), I've never been to his office, can't find out what he looks like on google, and I have no clue as to what will be asked or what is expected from me.
 So, I'll be in a strange building, with a strange man, asking odd questions, behind closed doors, for an in determinant amount of time. Yeah!!! My calm exterior betrays the heightened and frightened Aspie Survivor senses running amok.
I'm working on remembering a famous line from my previous therapist....a motto to hold onto, if you will, "just be yourself."
 This isn't a test. There are no right or wrong answers. I don't manipulate
....Oh, that was weird...he, the psych, just called me. He asked if I could move my appt back one hour to 1 pm, because Social Security had scheduled 2 people for noon. Ok. So, maybe this is a one hour appt? He sounded relatively harmless.
 Back to my story. Just be myself. There are no wrong answers. I answer as honestly as I can, as a rule, anyway, so I'm in the clear.
 I've worked on being as physically healthy as I can. Walking...I wager and measure every step. I preplan what I need to get and get down, so I don't have to take any unnecessary steps. Too many steps and fatigue. Moving as little as possible so that I, hopefully, can walk into the office appearing somewhat normal. Legs still heavy and stiff, today. The meds seem to help a little bit more each day, if I walk as little as possible.
 Sleep, oh, that exhaustive heavy slumber....been sleeping lots. Restless dreams. Prying myself off the bed to get up and take care of LittleGuy. Appetite, for me, is down...which is kinda nice, less trips to the kitchen.
 Drinking copious amounts of lemon water. Working on flushing the buggers away and out of my system.  Apparently, I am not communicating my needs and lack of physical ability well enough to those around me. Must not have found the right words, descriptive words that accurately describe the physical distress I am in. I've tried. I guess the best thing to do is, keep telling myself I am doing my best and believing it:)
 So, an hour and a half till I leave for my appt. Wish me lucky:) Send happy, strong thoughts:)
Peace and calm to you this day:)

How I feel....

(Article from LymeDisease.Org)

A few weeks ago, there was a small fire in my apartment building which necessitated three separate evacuations between the hours of 2:00 and 5:00am. Needless to say, it was a long night, and no one got much sleep. The next day I felt buzzy and glazed over, the same feeling I used to get in college when I stayed up too late writing a paper. I was tired, but it was normal tired, not sick tired. It’s a difference Lymies can recognize all too well, but one that’s hard to distinguish when we talk about a general symptom of fatigue.

Fatigue can mean a lot of things. It can mean muscle soreness after a bike ride. It can mean feeling drained after a long day at work. It can mean droopy eyes, the desire to take a nap, the need for an extra cup of coffee. It can even mean the buzzed feeling I experienced after a night of little sleep. All of these descriptions fit into the category of “normal tired.” What makes them normal is the base level of health underlying them. If a person is otherwise healthy, they are able to push through symptoms of normal fatigue because their adrenals are working properly and their bodies are not worn down from fighting infection.

“Sick tired” is another story. The fatigue of tick-borne diseases is not a general malaise that can be fixed with a nap or a cup of coffee. It is a crippling flu-like exhaustion, one that leaves muscles not sore but literally unable to function; one that makes the body feel shackled to the bed; one that makes the effort of lifting one’s head off the pillow seem like a Herculean feat. There were times, at my lowest point of illness, when I literally felt too tired to breathe.

It’s hard for someone who has never been that sick to understand what a person with chronic tick-borne illness means when she says, “I’m so tired.” I’ve had well-meaning friends say, “I’m tired a lot too,” but in the next sentence they tell me that they’re going to the gym or planning a party. This means they are “normal tired,” and while I sympathize with that, I wish there were more specific nomenclature to distinguish between our two very different definitions of fatigue.

This lack of distinction is especially unfair to patients with chronic fatigue syndrome, a nebulous umbrella under which many Lymies fall. “Fatigue” is hardly a strong enough word to cover what it feels like when your adrenals are shot, your nervous system has gone haywire and your body refuses to function. Even as a writer, it’s hard to articulate exactly what I mean when I use the word exhausted. My best effort at putting “sick tired”—specifically, the sick tired of chronic tick-borne disease—in layman’s terms is, Imagine you’ve partied all night and wake up with the worst hangover you’ve ever had. Your head is pounding. You’re overly sensitive to light and sound. You stumble to the bathroom and barely make it back to bed. Whatever you originally had planned for the day—work, homework, a run—is out of the question. You’re not sure if you’ll even be able to manage basic tasks like bathing and eating. You roll over and go back to sleep. Then imagine you wake up the next morning with all of the hangover symptoms still there, but now, you also have the flu. Not just a mild case of the flu, but a full-on bout of intense fatigue coupled with aches, fever and chills. Imagine this feeling goes on for days, and then weeks, and then months, sometimes even years. That’s Lyme disease.

It took years of medication, alternative therapies and hard work for me to get out of the rut of “sick tired” and battle my tick-borne diseases into remission. However, I still have to be very careful about pacing myself, or my “normal tired” can quickly slip into “sick tired.” The day after the fire alarms in my building, I had to cancel everything on my schedule and just sleep. Some may say it was a luxury that I was able to do this, but I see this one day “off” as a preventative investment against the weeks or months of them that can come back if I’m not careful.

By the same rationale, I take a nap every afternoon, without exception. If I don’t, I hit a physical, mental and emotional wall, melting down like a small child. Pushing through naptime causes me to go into a state that I call “pulling”—a feeling of having to pull myself through the rest of the day, and perhaps the following day, until I can get adequate rest. Without it, I am too tired to walk distances that are otherwise easy for me; I can’t think straight and mix up or forget my words; I overanalyze everything and become emotionally off-keel. Napping for me is thus not a luxury, but a necessity. In essence, I heed the alarms of my body, putting out the small fires before the blaze becomes out of control. And that makes nights with real fire alarms manageable.

Lyme survivor Jennifer Crystal is pursuing a Masters in Creative Writing at Emerson College, in Boston. Her website is jennifercrystal.com. Email her at jencrystal5678@gmail.com.

- See more at: http://lymedisease.org/news/touchedbylyme/jen-crystal-fatigue.html#sthash.HD8BEMWj.dpuf

Building Walls and Feeling Numb

 I learned early on, that feeling meant pain. My parents "love" was a serious misnomer. Their "love" hurt. So I built a wall. If an object or person brought me happiness...it was quashed, taken away or betrayed me. So I built another wall. Day after day, year after year, i built walls to try and avoid the hurt of feeling everyday life. I built walls against people, against the lying words, to prevent getting attached to anything or anyone, to avoid the pain of losing it.
 I tried really hard not to feel anything. I wasn't allowed to be happy. My parents were miserable and they wanted nothing more then that for me. If I had something precious...if they found out I was fond of something, they took it away. Happiness was never allowed.
 So I became numb...on the outside, surpressing all likes, wants and desires, and turned stoic, robotic, unfeeling, stifled. If you do something long enough, it becomes you. I turned into...a living, breathing, feeling being, seriously imprisoned behind a thousand walls of varying degrees of thickness and material.
 And here I have lived.

Failing to realize that the days of people, "loved ones", consciously and subconsciously routinely hurting me, has long passed.
 Distance, simple physical distance of miles, coupled with ignoring phone calls and Facebook blocking, has left me completely safe.  Yet still, I turned the wheels, rotating walls and hiding.
 I trust no one, but that is because I had to...for my own safety. Then I simply repeated the old patterns of thinking until I became trapped by my own security measures.

 I, now, trust myself. Small sentence, big revelation. In a way, I have always loved what is deep, down inside of me. The part of my I vehemently, ferociously protected and hid from the scavenging vultures of my biological family. My god, they constantly circled for prey, for victims to tear apart and feast. Even siblings...siblings were set against each other in a constant battle for attention, affection, food and imaginary competitions, forced to battle each other, to best each other. How sick. How fuckingsick, to look back and see what they did, encouraged and allowed.
 I have.....always been gifted....with a great amount of love, kindness and caring. I just couldn't let them see it to ruin me. But it did shine through.
Oh, you should have seen me away from my parents house. At work my compassion flowed. As I gladly helped my elderly neighbors, as I dropped my last two dollars into the red kettle.....I could go on and on. I have always been a caring, compassionate person.
  I hide behind "I'm not good enough" and "what if I give a little and they want more....more then I can give." I always worry that I might run out...that there won't be enough love for me. Because honey, I can't count on getting it from anybody else.

 This post started with thoughts....remembering how I was never loved or cared for. Remembering how pain upon me was encouraged and no one ever seemed to want to help, to stop my hurt. How I begged and pleaded, on the inside, for someone, one person, a saviour to help me, to love me, to hold me, to stop the bad guys, to pick my broken body off the floor and just hold me and love me. And it hurt to want. It hurt to have unanswered, unspoken pleas. So I Stopped Wanting. I stopped hoping. My god, there are only so many fucking days you can fight the big bastards without finally giving up and starting to die inside. I stopped reaching out. I gave up All hope. The world became a vile, putrid, painful place of self centered abusive bastards who Never saw The Obvious Pleading Pain In My Eyes...so I stopped Looking.
 No one gave a Shit when I was Emaciated, Pale, Starving and Bruised....do you wonder why I Hid? Do you wonder why I became distant, diffuse and dissociative? I didn't think so. Disillusioned.
Afraid to feel again, to dare to reach out. To trust...what's that. God sometimes I see how fucked I really am.
 Why am I here.....thought my job in life was to be beaten, taunted and raped. Appparantly, that occupation stopped many years ago. Maybe just now sinking in.
 I want what I never had. The stuff dreams are made of. Or, for the rest of you, that stuff you grew up with and get everyday. Confirmation of Your Existence. Love. Care. Someone that gives a shit. Someone That Can See you and Hear you and Feel you Just as you are.
 People outside, outside of me All Wanted Me Broken. Like them. God how they harmed me. Intentionally, as if it was their parental right and joy to bust me down.
They thought they could lower me to their standards....to become miserable abusive low lives like they were. I fucking showed them.
I am the strongest and smartest of the bunch, I knew what they did was wrong. I didn't join in their fucking reindeer games. I didn't buy the family mottos of "Incest is best" and "keep all the family secrets" and "Danger lurks Outside the family house." the only danger and incredible suffering was inside that house, inside that family.

Fuck them. They did not win.
I see the patterns of betrayal, lies and belittlement. I see that I had to build all these walls just to fucking survive their fucked up, cruel, malicious, sadistic, heavy handed, humiliating, and degrading existence of my "childhood". I Protected My Self. And I was damn good at it.
So here I sit. Within the walls I have made. It's a different time. It's a different place. I have different people with different objectives around me. Obviously, it's time to change. These people now.....they don't want to hurt me.
Time to talk about it. Time to be aware that the past...no longer holds me in its tight fisted death grip. Times. Have. Changed. The tide has turned.

Dealing with Lyme, Detox and Strategies

[Balloon Flower, Platycodon]
It's not quite a week, since I restarted antibiotics. I'm understanding what a "debilitating" disease is....the symptoms interfer with everyday functionality.
 I need only take a couple steps, feel how heavy and sluggish my legs are, to determine my state of unwell being. Walking is challenging. Legs are stiff, heavy really is the best word, and somewhat uncoordinated.
I figure there are times when I should "push through" the discomfort for functionalities sake, but it's a small, thin line. Mostly, I rest as much as possible...until the heaviness abates. Everyday is a constant monitoring of where my physical body is at, what I can reasonably do and what I can let go, not do.

[Gayfeather, Listeria]
 I've been reading about more home treatments. I soak my feet in apple cider vinegar, drink copious amounts of lemon water, engage in simple yoga exercises for my root chakra, employ various positive thinking mantras and utilize visualizations to help heal. I'm not helpless, just a bit limited in what I can do. I do as much as I can.
 I noticed the intense itching only starts an hour or two after antibiotics. Could be a sign my body's working on eliminating the bacteria.
My head's a little clearer. No headaches today. Had a nice, happy power nap for a couple hours. I was able to spend a couple hours with my LittleGuy and time with Eldest. I enjoyed more of Partners leftover barbecue ribs. I even ventured out for Dairy Queen. I haven't had ice cream in a couple weeks.
I continue to pay attention to what I ingest. Keeping gluten free pretty darn good, these days.
Overall, I can't complain. It's just my physical health slowing me down. I'll continue to improve.


Sharing some more pics from the garden. I hope I've got Mr. Bumble in the Gallardia, Blanket Flower pic...the red, orange, yellow flowers:)
Be well. Thanks for reading

So it's okay to talk about feeling ill?

Or so my Therapist says. She's constantly filling my head with strange ideas like this. Other therapisms...it wasn't my fault...you didn't do anything to deserve such punishment...I'm a good person...parents shouldn't rape or beat their kids. Yeah, she is sooo weird.


 I've been thinking about all the reasons why I never thought it was okay to talk about being sick:
1) No one cared
2) It changed nothing
3) They didn't believe me anyway
4) They did nothing to try and make me feel better. No trips to the doctor, cold compresses or chicken soup.
5) If I mentioned I was sick, I was shunned and isolated, made to feel bad and contagious.
6) Now this one...this one might be a bit unique...I was afraid if anyone knew I wasn't at my best, that they would take advantage of me and my weakened condition. Being sick makes me feel very vulnerable.
 I remember when I brought my eldest son home, after he was born. I was so weak and exhausted....and scared...for myself and my baby. How could I protect him?
7) For awhile, I thought being sick was a punishment for being bad. I know, sounds juvenile, but it was true for manymany years.
8) I figured I deserved it because I wasn't hygienic enough. That was before these pocket hand sanitizers. I'm not known for a shower every day....if I jump in once a week, I'm good. I sometimes thought that was a reason, though.


 I definietly get sick more than most, but research and studies have enlightened me. Autistic and abuse survivors typically are ill more often than NTs and the unabused. It has something to do with anxiety and stress hormones running the immune system down. When you live in fear everyday....the body suffers. Not to mention the actual physical traumas of abuse and multiple, serious beatings.
With that info and the reassurance from therapist...and a little insight of my own....I don't beat myself up for being sick anymore. Big Step for me.
I still don't like it, being nonproductive, achy, hurting, exhausted and such, but I'm not so self-defeating about it. And I know I so don't deserve it. And I'm around people that don't take advantage of me, so I feel less vulnerable.
I continue to throw around that whole, "what is the reason this is happening to me?" thingy.  But I'm learning that sometimes things just happen with no blame and no fault.
I do feel a little better than yesterday. I wasn't exhausted to the point that I slept most of the day. I rested often, but no heavy, exhaustive naps. I only had to take Benadryl twice for the itching, another improvement. I felt strong enough to shower.....yeah, my family always, politely is happy for the change of clothing and the.....aromatic change in the air:)


 The walk to the mailbox was long, but I enjoy getting outside. I sit on the deck, go for short walks, barefoot on the grass And, my favorite oddish hobby, hunting down Japanese beetles on my grapevine and...torching them! Well, they do chew up my grape leaves if I don't take action. It Is Fun! And I have both boys that have also taken up my "hobby". It's a family fun venture:)
In all honesty, sometimes I don't talk about being ill because I might get...back talk. Don't know what exactly to call it, but it's when peoples say, "oh, are you sick Again" or still. Or, "damn girl you are constantly sick, I swear." Or they give advice that I already know or what worked for them....or they tell horror stories of someone They knew, that suffered terribly with the same symptoms.


It eliminates the stress of social banter, if I keep my ailments to myself.
 Wow, didn't realize this was such an extensive subject. :)
Overall, I am pleasantly surprised that I stopped putting myself down for my physical ills. That's a big, positive step for me:)

Today

Did you ever have one of those days...where you feel like you forgot something, it drives you crazy, but you don't know what you forgot?


 It's like I'm sorry about something; I messed something up or did something wrong, but I don't kno what it is. It's a feeling, deep down, almost visceral, that I have done something wrong, since therapy yesterday. And I can't shake the feeling Or figure it out. It's like wearing a heavy wool coat of uncertainty and "I'm sorry."
 I'll have to write about it to try and figure it out, but first.....
 Lyme. This round of Lyme flare-up has brought a new, different host of symptoms compared to last summer, when I first contracted it. Itching!!!!!!! Incessant, intense itching that doesn't go away with any ease. I'm working on taking small doses of Benadryl to eliminate the itch without over medicating. I noticed the itching just a couple days ago. It's worse at night, around clothing touching, rubbing skin areas and anywhere I sweat.
 My heat tolerance is high. I get hothot at night and can't cool down easy. Sleep is disturbed, and hard to come by. My body hurts, is exhausted but cannot rest. My hands hurt the worst and it's more intense with any physical activity. Last summer, it was my knees....this time my precious hands.


 I Do feel better today then yesterday! Yay! Take the victories when I can!:)
  I am actively working on healing. My new regiment of vitamins, fluids, supplements, rest, positive thinking, fruits, vegetables and acupuncture agrees with me.
 Now, back to this darn....feeling bad sensation. I might have to call and ask therapist about it. I'm still at that "remembering only part of what is being said in therapy" thingy. It's driving me batty. It must relate to what I talked about...probably one of the oldold memories.
 I talked a lot about my mom. She, a true woman of the sixties, hit/ slapped me often when I was very young. Am I sorry for being an unruly child? No. No emotion or indicator that this is the answer surfaces.
 Am I sorry for telling on her? Maybe. Truth rings a bit in the emotional realm. I feel uneasy writing about this now. I don't know.....eventually I will know the why.
Tired again. Time to sleep. Off to dream. :)