Fading Out for a Bit

September 2, 2011

The past several months have been very difficult to live and work through. I feel like I haven’t found the support in blog world or in real life that I’ve needed lately. I don’t even know what kind of support I’m expecting. I feel I tried to reach out for help or advice and I wasn’t understood. I think my choice of words didn’t convey what I was feeling properly, either. I don’t seem to be getting across how I feel in therapy, and I’ve only been able to see her twice since summer began. That is my own fault and I blame myself for being screwy and misunderstood.

I am in a better place than I was two years ago.

I’m angry at the world and at myself.

Time slips away and I’m unable to use it effectively.

All my energy is focused on my family making it through the day safely and intact. They are fine, but that’s because I make sure they are.

I have no focus and no purpose. I’ve lost interest in my hobbies and I don’t have any time for them anyway.

There is no time to make time. It’s all accounted for.

Things I hate:

My parents (Die already, you fucking assholes!)

My life

My thoughts

My body

Food

Sex

Time

People in my community

People in general

Responsibility

The Internet

Television

Telephone

My in-laws

Money

Sleep

Anxiety

Love

Memories

Universe

Mental health

Hope

Truth

Optimism

News

I’m going to lay low again for a while. Life is punishment. I feel I’m being punished for surviving child sexual abuse. I feel my only purpose now is to see my own children live safe and free. My life has little meaning for me and I don’t see the reason for giving it a purpose. Two years I’ve been actively trying to make and find my life, not in a selfish way, but trying to integrate myself internally and externally. I have the diagnosis and the tools and the desire, but I feel the Universe just pushes me back into a box where I am a mom and wife and that’s it.

Things go much more smoothly when I play mom and wife. If a DID issue arises I deal with it and get back to mom and wife. When I try to find my purpose, or try new things bad things happen or get complicated.

I’m not going to try anymore to find myself or be more than I am for now. It’s depressing, tiring, and it unravels all the mommy and wife work I’ve done. It feels like the Universe wants me in a box for now and I’m willing to be there. I’m not a hero, I don’t have the strength to fight constantly, and I have no reason or purpose that I understand.

If this makes no sense to anyone, I’m sorry. This isn’t a pity party. I’m just giving up for now. I can’t find inspiration in myself or from others and I’m tired. Maybe things will start looking up this fall. Rose is tired of roaring.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a boring, uneventful week…..

My ex-husband is a fucking useless waste of life. His oxygen use should go to others who really need it, and the space his body takes up could be used for an extra set of shelves or something. Anyhoo… today may be the last day I ever have to deal with him in a “we have a child together” way. My plan of attack………….apathy. I’m picking up my son and his belongings because he’s moving back in with my family. He wanted to live with his dad a bit, which is great, and I’m glad he did because he learned what a jackass he really is. Good life lesson.

My husband won’t be there because he’s a feisty Italian, and the girls won’t be there because they don’t need to be. The greatest weapon in my Asshole Arsenal is apathy. Asshole tries to bait me again and again, but as long as I’m armed with Apathy, and use it well, it always protects me. If I don’t care then you can’t hurt me. If I don’t acknowledge your stupidity it can’t affect me. If I pretend you don’t exist I dehumanize you, take you for granted and you are nothing to me. I’ve fallen for his stupid games a couple of times but it’s okay. Apathy is my weapon and my defense.

I don’t feel comfortable using Apathy because it was used against me for over forty years. It’s hard to wield this mighty weapon, destroyer of self, self-confidence, and hope. It goes against everything I believe in – the value of life, the validation of existence, the importance of feeling important. It’s a cruel, wicked thing that can mean the difference between life worth living and not feeling worthy of life. Apathy is insidious. You can’t see it or touch it but it can put a hole right through your heart without leaving a mark.

I know that throughout most days Apathy means little, but Apathy constantly drilled into you day after day, and reinforced by the rest of your world time and time again………it’s like being pulverized into sand.

However….today I am not going to be hurt. Today I am not going to be put in a position where I am forced to do anything I don’t want to. Today I am not going to say anything I will regret. Today I will use Apathy in my defense to protect myself and my son.

I imagine that if I were being shot at and the assailant dropped their gun, I would pick up that weapon and defend myself to the death. Yet, to choose Apathy as my weapon, knowing how to use it and how it’s been used against me, knowing I need to use it….well, it feels so heavy, so burdensome, and so overkill.

Sometimes I need to fight like the enemy. And that is the most disturbing truth of all.

Last night I had a very graphic dream about something my mother did which was sexually abusive and as a child never understood.Then this morning I received the following email from my her:

“Dear Lisa,

I want to start by saying that I know that you are angry at us for something we have done and I want to say that what ever it was , we are sorry and we really do love you very much and pray that some day you will forgive us.

I want you to know that your dad is ill and in the hospital. I just got home from the emergency room and he is being admitted. He is diagnosed with pancreatitis and they are doing an MRI tomorrow and calling in the GI doctors and pancreatic surgeon to evaluate the MRI tomorrow. At this time we do not know what it is, but with his history of cancer we are concerned. I will let you know what is going on.

Love Mom”

After hubby and I read it two things occurred to us:

1. She wants me to confront her so she can try and be penitent so I will forgive them, and

2. She realizes that my dad may not be around for much longer and she will be alone and it’s starting to scare her, so she needs to try and connect with me (and maybe my drug-addict sister) to take care of her.

I just wanted to note that she did not give the name of a hospital, a phone number or anything. That’s what she does, though. She leaves out pertinent information to make you go to her and then makes you do things for her while she soaks up the drama.

Several years ago hubby and I knew what we would say when she comes asking for help – “We’re sure you’ll find a nice retirement home.”. It’s not our problem, it’s not our responsibility.

Thinking about my dad dying didn’t make me angry or depressed. Rather, I felt relief, hope and freedom. It just washed over and inside me. He hasn’t tried to contact me in months which is nice. If he is dying and wishes to see me I won’t go. I expect there may be phone calls from relatives, but it’s none of their business and I’m happy to tell them so.

I feel hopeful after reading other blogs and how they reacted to their father’s deaths. We’ll be okay and we’ll feel safer and that’s always a good thing.

The abusers stopped by on Sunday. Mom is playing a “Let’s pretend we’re a great, big, healthy, happy family” game, but not my dad, and that won’t last long anyhow, and my kids didn’t fall for it. They are fading away and are miserable, disgusting, ugly creatures. I’m glad for that.

No triggers, no nightmares, nothing. We are in total control with them. When we motioned for them to leave they did. No kind words and hardly a goodbye. It was nice.

We have a plan in place should they want to stop by again.

It’s good to feel above and beyond them right now.

The week before my mom sent me a box in the mail. There was no note, just a photo album. The pictures were ones she had told us were missing nearly fifteen years ago. I didn’t look at all of the pictures, but the few I did see were of me naked (as a toddler) or in sexy poses. I remember  that some of those pictures had been in a certain album which had disappeared, but I have no memory of the pictures being taken. She wrote something either on the photos or ripped off pieces of paper, wrote on them, and put them with the pictures. It’s just crazy. I did ask my therapist to look at them last week and she suggested a couple of things: Place them carefully in a box and save them for much later to look at (right again, Meredith!), or take one picture at a time and journal about how I feel when I look at them.

I didn’t acknowledge that I received the photos and mom didn’t ask about them when she was here.

It feels good to get bored with their desperate tactics to try and regain some control over me.

It’s a relief that I don’t need to pop Xanax at the mention of them.

I still wish they would explode or fall into a whirling vortex of Chaos (hmmm….like “Event Horizon” maybe?), but I and my family can deal with their shit and they can’t hurt us.

When I was young I used to pray and talk to god and I could feel his love as a warm blanket, wrapping me up. Now I know it was dissociation.

I could feel Jesus laying down next to me in bed and I loved him like an older, protective brother. But I was dissociating.

When I received the sacraments I felt the holy spirit blessing me. I was dissociating.
When I was eighteen and found Wicca I knew that was the goddess spilling into me and encircling me. It was really dissociation.

During Ceremonial Magick rituals I felt I was a conduit between worlds. But I was dissociated.

This is absolutely not meant to mock anyone’s spiritual experiences. It is my story of what happened when I received my DID diagnosis. When I left the office that day I tried to find solace and understanding in my pagan faith. There was nothing. No “whoosh” like I had felt before, no connection when I prayed or did a ritual. It felt like a switch turned off. It felt like my spiritual life was a lie and I was abandoned. The new knowledge of these other parts protecting me and existing within me made me feel naked and stupid.

A few months later I boxed up all of my personal tools, clothes, books, and supplies. My kids still believe, and when they talk about gods, goddesses, faeries, and invisible connections I sometimes want to scream how it’s all a lie. I know it’s not a lie for them, and I’m glad they have faith. My husband still practices and he feels sorry for me because I’ve lost faith in anything beyond the physical.

Layer after layer is revealed until I’m just a naked, unwanted child. It makes me feel cold and cynical. It makes me want to stop everything – eating, walking, waking up, talking… It makes me angry. It makes me feel stupid for espousing my beliefs and practicing so openly.

It has been a year since my diagnosis and there is still nothing. The less I dissociate the more I see how dumb I am. Now I can see my real face in the mirror and it’s wrinkled and looks like my parents.

I was hoping that by now I would feel something. If I felt that connection again, if I could see faeries again, or marvel at nature, or be amazed at anything outside (or inside) myself I think I would know there is a reason for anything.

Just FYI

March 1, 2011

It’s hard to know what to write when it feels like a lot is going on. No, wait. I am feeling very little, but a lot is going on.

I think I’ve been taken over by the If You Ignore It – It Will Go Away entity.

I can’t connect inside or outside. Not sure what this phase is all about.

Just FYI.

The holidays and androids

December 6, 2010

This past Saturday my oldest girl participated in a Christmas play and had a blast.

Next week is her middle school chorus concert.

The week after that is my youngest girl’s 3rd grade chorus concert.

Holiday music is everywhere. Streets and lamp posts are decorated. People are wearing holiday pins, scarves, hats, necklaces and whatnot.

Hell, it is snowing right now.

The kids are playing Christmas songs on the organ and singing in the shower.

I have to buy supplies for their school Christmas parties.

They are having dreidel contests in school.

They have already made decorations and are putting them around the house.

They are clamoring for a tree.

It feels like my eyes are stuck open (a la “Clockwork Orange”) and I can’t stop the input of this holiday. There is no place to hide this year and it’s frightening. The only memory I have of Christmas as a kid is one midnight mass and doing some dishes at my grandmother’s house. Then it’s like I woke up in 1998 and I’m fine from then on.

So….I’ve decided I’m an android that was programmed to awake in 1998 and my memory chip was disabled somehow. I mean, really, what other explanation can there be? Oh, I know it’s probably some abuse thingie, but my android theory is much more exciting and interesting. And as an android I should be able to get through this holiday season by implementing a program that allows me to function without feeling any emotions until..oh, let’s say January 17th.

However, while I am searching my data banks for that program I have to suffer through gagging, vomiting, fear, shaking, losing time and confusion. I will also be careful around my children and smile, sing along with them, decorate the house, keep the cats off of the tree, and force myself to sit through holiday shows and movies (although it’s never a problem to watch “Black Adder’s Christmas Carol” no matter how fucked-up I feel).

I have been reading that the holidays can be upsetting and/or triggering for many of us, but I honestly thought I was immune. The holidays just suck usually, that’s all. This year it’s like they are alive, or have some weird hold over me. It worries me a bit.

Well, I have whined enough about it. Writing this out made me feel a little better, though I don’t completely understand why.

Thanks for reading.

Holiday happenings…or not

November 23, 2010

We’re staying home for holidays for the rest of our lives. It’s no longer important to visit with people who trigger us (hubby and I), behave like idiots in front of everyone, upset the kids, and just depress us in general. Most are very upset with our decision. Fuck them. I’m no longer wasting my time, life, etc. because it’s “expected”. I take enough Xanax already. And this was all hubby’s idea, too. The holidays are just another day to us, anyway, but we try to fake through them for the kids.

– We’re smoking our turkey this year and it will take 14 hours to cook! We thought a horror movie marathon would help us stay awake.

– The chocolate pudding and pumpkin pies, as well as the cranberry bread were made in partnership with a 22-month old I’ve been babysitting the past two days. They are messy, probably unsanitary, but yummy, and I send home bread and pies to her mom, too.

– Each kid picked out a side dish, so we have mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry relish, sausage stuffing, chicken fingers, french fries, cheesy quesidillas, and cocktail meatballs. The table should look quite interesting if everything fits.

– Everyone also picked out what to watch over vacation. We have “Mork and Mindy”, “Happy Tree Friends”, “The Tick” (live version), and “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” so far.

I don’t make a list of things to be thankful for. I just try to make it through a day. If I didn’t have a little-bitty to watch this week I’d be carving up myself as well as a turkey. Any contact with the abusers will be terminated as of January, but hopefully they will die in some freakish, painful accident before then.

Life is okay here in the house, but not in my head, or in my body and I can’t disengage. I don’t know why. Having little-bitty-Mia-Monster is a big help, though. I’m so glad I kept all of these toys. It’s fun to play with her. I half-wish her mom had asked me to watch her more often. At least she knows I can do it in a pinch.

That’s all. The kids will be home Wednesday through Monday. That should keep me safe.

Mia just finished lunch (I think. If it’s on the couch I think that means she’s done.) and we have two more pie crusts to roll out. Huzzah!

ranting again

October 10, 2010

My brain has shut down the parts that held the English language beyond a fourth grade level. I can’t find the words I need to express myself and I sound like a stupid little girl.

I used to be the editor of the college’s feminist newsletter and I trained to be a government documents library technician (long title for someone who knows the Library of Congress’s system), and I trained as a pharmacy technician. Lots of long names in the pharmacy business. My majors  in college were social anthropology and German. Lots of long, interesting words there, too. Be damned if I can remember any of them.

I can’t find a language or words. There is no access to them. It’s like a big door is blocking me to those words.

Last night I had a dream. there was a large field with many people milling about at the Mental Health Picnic. I went to a counter to order 2 pizza slices, 2 tuna fish subs, and 2 club subs. The lady didn’t see me, so I was politely waiting to order. Another girl pushes me out of the way and barks her order and the woman immediately responds. I lose it on the girl, scream in her face, and push her. Then everyone at the picnic goes silent and they are staring at me. I profusely apologize to the girl and say that there was no reason for my behavior. She gets her order and I get mine and everyone gets back to having a good time.

No consideration for me whether I’m polite, whether I am respectful, whether I’m nice, etc.. But as soon as I step out of that character I get in trouble, I’m at fault, I’m in trouble, it’s my fault. Now no one can have a good time. I ruin it for everyone. I am so fucking tired of this!

There is nothing for me. If I die life goes on. of course it does. If I leave life goes on. If I stay and play nice-nice things go more smoothly.

I’m not self-centered or a narcissist. I just feel like I sacrifice, play nice, and give up what I want and need, or it’s taken and I don’t do anything about it. Why should I? It would probably make my life more difficult anyway, and it’s already difficult finding reasons to simply get through the day.

I couldn’t finish my degree because at the third college I attended because someone found me in a corner of the government documents bleeding from a hundred slices I’d made, and she quickly put me in my car and told me to go home. I wish she had gotten me to a hospital. Maybe someone could have helped me. I couldn’t finish at the first college I went to because of mental health issues and they gave me back to my father. I couldn’t finish at the second college I attended because of mental health issues so I eloped and ran to Texas.

If I raise my voice or become angry here at home it really frightens my kids, so I try to reason with them. I don’t hit and I’m lucky because I rarely need to take something away from them if they misbehave. They really are good kids. Not angels, but good.

I wish I could show you how I’m crying and pounding the desk while I’m typing. Even if I went to my therapist feeling this way I know I would not thrash around this way. I would be very polite and quiet and try to keep my voice even.

How do I write the way I really feel? I don’t communicate well.

My FIL is coming over in half-an-hour. I would like to tell him to fuck off because he is so annoying. Hopefully he won’t stay long.

Okay. Enough ranting.

***religious trigger***

I used to love Jesus. He was my brother and loving friend. Sometimes I dreamed that he was having sex with me, and that bothered me so much that I asked my priest about it in the confessional. The priest told me it was okay and my dreams symbolized Jesus’ ultimate love for me and that it was nothing to be ashamed of. Often at night I could feel Jesus lying next to me in bed and I felt safe. Later, and before therapy, I realized it was actually my father lying next to me, molesting me, and I was using  Jesus so I wouldn’t have to deal with what was really happening to me in my bed.

By the time I was 18 I completely lost my Catholic faith, and it’s very difficult for me to read or hear about abuse survivors finding their strength to recover from abuse through their Christian faith. I am very glad that it is helping them, but I get tired of reading about it. I honestly mean no offense whatsoever. I used to believe too, and quite fervently.

At this time I have no faith in anything whatsoever. I feel that I used Jesus, God, whatever to blind me and protect myself from what was actually happening. I used them just as my brain used different personalities to protect me. Using Jesus and God was a conscious decision that I remember. The alter personalities were an unconscious decision, I feel.

I cannot relate to those who have found solace and hope and strength in their faith of choice. I often come across blogs or articles written by survivors and whose stories I can understand until it gets near the end and I read something to the effect of, “And I would not have gotten this far without the help of Jesus (God, deity of choice).”. That means nothing to me. I have NEVER responded negatively to anyone who feels that way. I have NEVER responded negatively to anyone who has written “I will pray for you”, or “I will keep you in my prayers”. I truly appreciate those considerations. That means a lot to me. Anyone who would ever think of me, wish me well, or consider me in a positive way is super-duper in my book. I feel the same for others as well.

I would never try to undermine anyone’s faith. It simply doesn’t make sense to me and is not part of my present makeup. I know that in a large part this is a reaction to my abuse and the fact that my family were strict Irish Catholics. I also attended Catholic school K-12. I did everything I thought I was supposed to and still ended up here. I’m no Job, nor do I want to be.

This rant may also be a reaction to my surgery last week and inability to do many of the things I normally do. Perhaps my mind is wandering around looking for other things to be upset about instead of just looking at my belly all cut up.

***Sexual Trigger***

Part of the surgery involved 4 vaginal incisions. I didn’t know about that part of the surgery until the next day. I was aware that part of the surgery was vaginal, but not that it meant incisions there. This triggered some nasty memories/personalities and I’ve been working overtime to soothe them. When I am completely healed I will never have to worry about my original problem ever, so I’m trying to focus on the positive outcome of  it.

***end trigger***

Maybe I’ll create my own deity this week, or look around the house for one. I use spatulas a lot….The Supreme Spatula of Domestic Goodness…The Plunger of Perpetual Light…The Sponge of Sanctity…maybe not….