Ahem. The Committee of the System would like to express their heartfelt appreciation for your existence (that being anyone who stops by to read this crap). Your words, your experiences, and your support help us move through life.

Sometimes I imagine that those who are further along the healing path have access to great wisdom and insight. And when you step away from the computer flowers sprout from beneath your feet and faeries toss rose petals on your path. Don’t tell me this doesn’t really happen, or my illusions will be shattered forever.

I know that when I get up from the computer I’ll drag my ass to the kitchen and get to work, but the sky won’t open up and a rainbow won’t light my path (I KNOW that’s how it happens with some of you).

My life is boring. The only excitement comes from battling and bargaining with my inner demons and demonettes, working through new memories, and figuring out which sounds are real and which are hallucinations.

I think my life would make a great movie…….. There’s drama, tragedy, sudden plot twists, action, adventure, travel, life-altering moments…….

So I remembered some scary, filthy stuff, but the little girls who experienced it didn’t think it was scary or filthy. It just was. That is simply what happened. They were so relieved to share what they went through, and I need to feel relieved also.

I’m also hearing things several times a day and it’s hard to tell the difference between what’s a real sound and what’s not. My therapist wants me to call the psychiatrist but I’m afraid to. One sound in particular confounds me. It’s a record player and the needle is all the way at the end of the record, making that sound over and over. The strange thing about it is that I can actually walk around the sound. It’s as though the record player is right in front of me, invisible, and I can move around it. It makes me feel crazy. Maybe it’s a ghost. I’ve asked inside if anyone can help me learn where this record player is from but I have no answer yet. I did tell my therapist about it, though.

Many of the sounds are triggering and I won’t write about them here. I would rather have the “usual” flashbacks. My husband said it must be similar to what some Vietnam soldiers experienced and people thought they were crazy. I’d like to know what they are from so I can help and work through it.

One thing that does help is playing non-English radio stations loudly on the Sirius/XM radio. That and trying to crochet and watch a subtitled movie at the same time.

Everyone is gone now and I’ve rambled on enough. Time to make it less quiet here.

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It has been difficult finding my voice, but it was behind the couch the whole time. (c’mon…laugh…it was cute…)

Hubby and I made a decision last year about how to end contact with my parents. We chose to do it step-by-step and thus far it is working. We also knew that my parents would work very hard to regain some control over me and that it would be difficult to ride through in the short term. I told him that they would, at least through their words, play a pseudo-legal game as a threat, even if they just hint at it. And so they have already. It’s just their game, and it is only words from desperate people, and we’re handling it okay. They like to threaten (even if it’s a subtle threat) and manipulate. They’re special that way.

A few therapy sessions ago my therapist said that we could consider legal avenues if we feel it necessary and I would have her support.

So anyway…I know many people don’t agree with the way we are handling this, but we feel it is the best way at this time. We know how my parents think and so far have been ahead of their games, remained safe and in control, and have support. Those issues alone are so very important. Had we suddenly ended contact it would have created far more complicated problems. Situations are different and this is working best for our situation.

This is the email we received last weekend:

> To: “Lisa”
> Sent: Sunday, February 27, 2011 1:17:32 PM
> Subject: VISITATION RIGHTS
>
>
> As grandparents, we hereby insist that you pick a day, Saturday or Sunday, between now and March 31st, to allow us to visit with your family.  If you’re lucky, we may bring a ‘token’ for you, as a recognition of your birth.
>
> Please consider, and reply at your earliest.
>
> Dad

My response:

> April 3rd or April 10th is best for us. No need to bring a ‘token’ for anything, we’re fine.

And then:

>Hi honey,

>We will see you on April 3rd, what time is good for you? We will not bring any ‘token’, we are just bringing the birthday presents we got you, so if you do not get a card on your birthday, please do not think we forgot. We would not forget your birthday Let us know a good time.>Love you, Mom

I don’t acknowledge my parent’s birthdays and my mom recently had one. That’s what her condescending little jab is about. The subject “VISITATION RIGHTS” is a pseudo-legal threat from them. Writing the words out is supposed to slip into my subconscious and bend me to their will. I’m serious. That’s how they think. As if they’re spies or something.

My therapist agrees with our approach and the way I am keeping boundaries and control.

An important realization over the past week is the fact that my parents gaslighted me. By constantly telling me, as well as family and friends, I am a liar and a faker and threatening me besides made it impossible to accept the belief in my own existence. If what I went through happened, and yet I’m being barraged with “You’re always making things up.”, “You never tell the truth.”, “No one can ever trust what you say.”, “Stop faking it. You’re not really hurt.”, it’s no surprise I can’t tell what is real. One incident in particular stands out. My parents took the day off work to meet with my 2nd grade teacher and tell her how I constantly lie, so anything I may have told her is unbelieveable. I don’t remember what I told my teacher, just the meeting. Accepting this truth also brought with it sensations of being choked and dry heaves. No anxiety though, and only a single thought of self-harming.

No one else in my life has not believed me or told me to shut up and stop lying. No one else has questioned what I believed happened in any circumstance. My parents constantly played these head games to the point where I question my own exsitence.

It is such a relief to understand this. I feel like “Yay! I’m not totally nuts, just broken!”. Broken I think I can work with. Being insane means “Why bother?” to me.

For the most part, life sucks, but it’s workable. I’m not in my happy space yet and these understandings and other crap are extremely tiring. I don’t know if this is a good post, but I am curious if anyone else went through something similar with their parents. I am also very nervous about what the next phase of healing will be like. Today I feel like I took a big step forward and banished some of my negative ways of thinking. Ways of thinking that were not even mine to begin with.

 

Want to be done now

February 23, 2011

This hurts. And it’s tiring. And it requires lots of medication. And it’s lonely. And it plays with my head. And it’s scary. But mostly it hurts.

My oldest daughter has taken care of a stuffed baby this week for Health class. She had to sew the body, draw a face, choose a name, and carry it with her everywhere. She also sewed a blanket for it, drew on an anime face, and decided her baby is Buddhist, too. She hasn’t taken the entire project seriously, she’s hired her sister as a babysitter several times, and I found out why this morning. She can’t imagine being responsible for such a tiny, fragile person and keep it safe, fed, and happy. At 12 years old she understands that at least she is not ready for such responsibility.  A lot of the kids doing this project thought it would be great to have their own baby for real, and she is telling them “No, it would not be great. It would be a lot of work and I want to be a veterinarian first.”. I know it’s a 12-year old realization, but I’m proud anyway.

That brings me to an obvious point. My parents should have never had children. If I had the choice I would rather not have been born. I’m not happy here and I don’t function well. So many things are a struggle and I can’t seem to get it right. I work, work, work, inside and out and I’ll be dead before I can sort things out. My parents didn’t keep me safe, fed, or happy. I am the bane of their existence, as they have reminded me. They couldn’t look at a little baby in wonder and love, but rather in disgust and anger.

These birth and responsibility thoughts I have aren’t new. I keep coming back around to see them from a different point of view every so often. When I was 14 my parents forced me to have an abortion. I didn’t know I was pregnant and we were just learning about female reproductive stuff in junior high. I found out I was pregnant shortly before I had the abortion after school one afternoon. In the very short amount of time I realized I was pregnant (and subsequently threatened if I told anyone) I knew I loved and could care for that baby and give it a better life than I had. Later, while recovering, I swore that I when I was ready to have a baby I wouldn’t let my parents have anything to do with it – my pregnancy or raising my baby. I know a baby at 14 would have made my life even more difficult, and I had no idea how to care for a baby, but I still loved the baby as intensely as a hormonal pre-teen could.

I’ve been thinking about this over the past two weeks. I was 25 when I felt ready to have a baby, and I did make sure my parents were not involved in any way. Part of it must have been subconscious knowledge because I remember freaking out if my mom or dad tried to be alone with them without knowing exactly why. I brought this up (the abortion) in therapy many months ago, but just started discussing it the past two sessions. It was such a relief to get it out. The body memories that always accompany this are gone and I can look at it from this other point of view and see what a good, healthy mother I am.

Looks like I’m rambling again. I feel okay today and I felt okay yesterday afternoon after therapy. It was a bit depressing talking about the abortion, it was my mom’s birthday (which I don’t acknowledge), so when I got home I went in one of the girls rooms and just cleaned and cleaned (and had a discussion later about how to use the garbage can). Feeling okay is nice. I get work done and cook fantastic meals. I draw pictures on fruit to make people laugh. I vomited up that incident and that part feels clean inside. The rest of the house needs some cleaning, though, so it’s time to wrestle with my vacuum.

Febuary 9th Was a Long Day

February 10, 2011

Step 1. Ask therapist to PROMISE not to get mad at you before you even sit on the floor.

Step 2. Hand her suicide kit containing 40-50 narcotic pain killers, X-Acto knife, and alcohol pads along with note for her that reads “I’m really, really, really sorry”, etc., and expresses urge to self-harm while she watches.

Step 3. Let it all fall out. Don’t think about anything. Just let it fall, fall, fall, fall out.

Step 4. Buy a Caramel Mocha at McDonald’s, after she feels you can drive, with the window down, so that freezing cold keeps you aware all the way home.

Step 5. Don’t stop at the grocery store. That is a bad idea.

My brain separates mom’s abuse from dad’s. Dad’s abuse has few problems being remembered. Mom’s is under different layers, or at least filed in a different way. The first layer is her basic disdain that I was born a girl instead of a boy that would carry on the family name. Another is about having red hair and her disdain (jealousy? Hard to tell the difference. I’m not good with emotions). Another is about having long hair as a child because dad liked it, so she had it cut into a page boy haircut when I was nine. Another is about neglect – physical and emotional. Another is the conflict between “good” mom and “mean” mom, which is further divided into physical, emotional, and sexual abuses.

The parts that were created to protect me from dad have a much smoother time revealing themselves and accepting that it’s safe now, it can never happen again, etc., and it’s easier to figure out what they need to create a space inside for them.

The parts created to deal with and/or protect me from mom feel more complicated. Memories of her abuse are more linear, so I can think back and know what happened, but I always wonder why, what did I do wrong, why does she do that to me, why does she say that, why does she like so-and-so more than she likes me, why doesn’t she love me, what can I do to get her love………

I was going over a list about the effects and/or signs of incest a while back and I was saying to myself, “Oh yeah. Dad did that. And that. And that. Oh, that was Mom definitely…”, but I ignored what mom had done and only focused on the father-daughter incest.

I know my mother is a wrong creature, but I also divided up what she did into a few categories: she was jealous that dad had sex with me (without stopping it or getting help), she was an RN so she needed to try the new medications to make sure they worked (She said I was her guinea pig.), and if she couldn’t stop dad from doing what he did she could watch and laugh (which is what she did, and still does, when I’m hurt, in pain, having a bad day, out of a job, spill something on me, fall down, etc.). For whatever reason this made some sort of sick sense to me and I never thought of it as sexual abuse. I thought she was simply a souless, empty, pathetic, fucking bitch from Hell. Another question that plagued me was why am I the one being put through all of this. She spoiled my sister rotten and I couldn’t figure out what I did wrong besides not being born a boy (something she recently reminded me of again).

So the more I learned about myself, how my System functions, the difference between right and wrong behaviors, healthy versus unhealthy, the more I saw that besides the emotional and physical abuses I suffered at her hands the more many of them fell into sexual abuse as well. They usually overlap each other, which makes it more confusing. Many things she did were only sexual, and often that felt like some revenge or payback I don’t understand.

The threats and consequences about telling anyone what she was doing are also there, just like dad’s. Recently I’ve met two alters who were created to kill if I told. The one created by my father’s threats is called M, and his job was to make sure I commit suicide before telling anyone the horrible things dad did, especially the things that have surfaced over the last 15 months. The alter created by my mother’s threats is called Andy, and his job is to kill me, like a hitman. I thought that was an interesting difference. M makes sure I commit suicide, while Andy actually kills me. I’m not exactly sure what that means or if it is common to mother-daughter sexual abuse (MDSA) survivors.

Writing this out is conflicting for me. I feel an inner sigh of relief, ashamed, and scared. I still don’t know where to go with this subject and I hope I at least shed some light and understanding on what happened and what is happening at this point. Please don’t be afraid to ask anything. Comments and suggestions are always welcome.

This blog has been immensely healing, informative, and just plain healthy for me. I’ve been blogging here for over a year about child sexual abuse, DID, and fun stuff like that. One subject I have not written about is mother-daughter sexual abuse (MDSA).

From my memories and experiences it always felt like a revenge tactic or a “power-over” trip. Her abuse, whether sexual, verbal, or emotional always feels like that. Whatever it was about my mother works very hard to shove her negativity down my throat to be free of it and then walk away in disgust of me. That’s from my perspective.

Thanks to serendipity, when I decided to work on this issue I found some support and information and feel less like a piece of garbage than usual. I’ll add websites, blogs, books, and other pertinent resources as I find them.

I’m not sure what to write, or what I want to write about MDSA. It simply feels right to acknowledge it here.

Any information, insights, or questions are welcome. Next week in therapy I’ll be bringing this subject up again. I mentioned it about 8 months ago, but didn’t discuss it because of shame and the fear I wouldn’t be believed.

Thanks for reading.

Bloggy info update

January 27, 2011

I’ve added a new blog to the blogroll:

Butterfly Closures – The primary focus of her blog is mother-daughter sexual abuse, which is very important to me, and her resources are definitely worth checking out and reading. It is a subject I’m not prepared to write about but one which I struggle with.

In other Blogginess…

meredith and her Yoga for a Year entries are insightful and inspiring and help me to both reach inside and look beyond what happened.

Kate1975 has added links and pages and resources and I can spend all day going through the terrific information she has gathered. Here is a specific mother-daughter sexual abuse resource page:

http://kate1975.wordpress.com/2009/08/02/mother-daughter-sexual-abuse-links/

Mark does not blog about abuse or mental illness, but his photography and interpretations of the wonder and beauty of nature always give me pause.

It can be so lonely and painful here, in my body. Visiting and reading these blogs, the other terrific blogs on my blogroll, and checking out the Internet resources I have listed really does help. I feel it is important to acknowledge that pain and loneliness, work with my therapist, write, draw, talk inside and out, and read reliable books and blogs and resources to learn, empathize, offer and accept support, and know, really know that I’m not alone. I may be lonely and miserable but I am not alone. I can gain strength, hope, and compassion from the ether of the Internet. And on the better of days I can offer that as well.

That’s all.

picking through garbage

January 27, 2011

There is a big, flat rock over my heart. It’s heavy and it makes me ache. I can’t move it and what is underneath is being squished.

Some emotions are in my throat and behind my eyes.

I’ve been confused, dizzy, and panicky.

I’m very tired and angry.

I’ll see you a little bit later after I work through these lovely things.

Everyone is in the System house which is quiet, but busy. Working Inside makes it more difficult to respond to posts, but I am reading them.

We reached a mini-milestone in therapy and hope it continues.

We try to stay in motion whether it’s folding laundry, practicing Tai Chi, getting the mail, or spinning yarn on the wheel. Sitting at the computer too long makes us depressed.

We’re taking Minipress at night for trauma-related nightmares, too. Not bad, but maybe when we increase it next week it will work better.

Drawing pictures and writing more is helping, too. So is eating healthier.

That’s all right now. Be good to yourselves.