The holidays approach - good news; bad news

WARNING: This blog is written by an adult survivor of severe childhood abuse. While specific graphic details are not offered, it is entirely possible that this material may be uncomfortable for some readers. If you have any doubt as to whether this may “trigger” you or make you feel unsafe in any way, please STOP reading and click elsewhere. If, while reading this or at any other time, you find yourself feeling unsafe or contemplating hurting yourself, please IMMEDIATELY contact a crisis line or mental health professional. Please – be safe, and be well. If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of these resources. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targeted groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence. Here's a link to a list of resources. Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.

================================================




It's been awhile since I've posted on this blog, or most of my others, either. That is due in great part to the fact that my laptop is dying. I can use it for word processing, working on my 100K word memoir, and using Excel to track the chapters, word count, etc. However, if I go online, even briefly, my whole system freezes and  usually crashes. I've run every anti-viral and anti-malware I can find, but nothing shows up. So, I'm saving up for a new laptop, and I'm using my partner's laptop when she's taking a break or when she's sleeping. This is one of those moments - I took her to the ER yesterday, and they confirmed what I suspected - she has pneumonia. So she's resting quite a bit. Bonus for me - actual online time, more than a few minutes!

So much is going on right now, and any survivor knows that events don't happen in a vacuum. If there is crisis or significant change - even positive change - it tends to resonate with the past to some degree, and we often end up re-visiting truths we've learned, or insights we've reached. Such is the case in my current situation.

The months of November and December tend to be challenging months for me. And really, it's mostly the latter half of November that's rough; the first half has historically been relatively okay. This year, that's changed, because November 11th will be six months since my mother died, and November 13th would have been my mother's 70th birthday.

During the holiday season, my mom and my step-dad drank even more than usual. Countless times I was left alone, freezing, either in a car while Mom was drinking in a bar, or on the floor of her office after she passed out, or even shut away in an unheated storage room while my mother and step-father had a Christmas party to which I was most definitely NOT invited. Getting really cold is enough to trigger me, even without the other aspects added in.

I am preparing for some very hard physical labor, getting ready for a delightful gift from the universe. My daughter, who had been living in Oklahoma with her former fiance, is now visiting a close friend in Alberta (Canada). Canadian immigration officials told Jen she can stay until November 28th, but must leave Canada by then. At that point, Jen will probably be coming home to Seattle.

This is fantastic news! I haven't actually seen or touched my daughter in years, and I miss her terribly. I need to clear out room in our tiny, tiny apartment, so she has room to crash on the futon and still have space for her luggage and such. Leslie would normally assist with some of this, but she was told by the doc who diagnosed her pneumonia that she needs to take it easy for about a month. Well, that leaves me.

I myself am fighting a lingering sore throat and a hacking cough with fever. It's not pneumonia - or at least not yet. I asked the nurse in the ER about my chances of catching the pneumonia bug that Leslie has, and she said something less than 50/50. I really don't have time to be sick, so I'm visualizing my immune system valiantly fighting any and all bacterial or viral invaders. I cannot and will not think of pneumonia as being "inevitable" for me. Our thoughts quite literally shape reality, so I'm very conscious of my thought patterns in this regard.

And speaking of thought patterns, I've been challenged by a newly recovered memory and associated flashbacks that I knew, on some level, were coming. I've been blocking these for a very long time, but it's clearly time for the emotional toxins to surface so they can be washed away. My challenge currently is finding a way to talk about the details - just with my therapist, even. This is so bad that it leaves me feeling dehumanized. And while I need to give voice to this particular atrocity, so that I can begin to grieve and heal, I am hesitant, fearing I will wound the soul of whomever learns of this particular event.

I suppose if I can survive the revelation that one of my alters is a ghost, then I can probably survive this latest detail. But it will take some time and some careful tiptoeing around the emotional minefield, particularly during the upcoming holidays. I remind myself that I've already survived the worst they could do to me; now it's just a matter of processing the memories, feeling the agonizing grief, and moving forward.

The memoir has come along nicely. I've been doing layers of editing, working hard to include all that's relevant and adds to the story, but working to come in at  a maximum of 100,000 words for a final count. The work isn't always easy, but it is certainly compelling. It's as if the writing is moving through me, like a deep and torrential river. I couldn't hold it back even if I wanted to, at this point.

I was deeply disappointed and moved to tears when I learned that Oprah had a multiple on her October 6th show. Nothing against the "housewife multiple," but I think my story is unique and compelling. I have moved beyond mere survival, and offer support to others in whatever way I can. I am ordained clergy, a Reiki Master healer, writer and facilitator, and much more. Perhaps when my book publishes, Oprah's people will give me a call. I've submitted my information to them THREE times previously.

Another idea for a project that has popped up, rather insistently, is doing a series of YouTube videos on life as a multiple. Among singletons, there is a great deal of misconception, stigma and fear surrounding dissociation. Frankly, it's a fascinating subject. Even if just from the mind-body perspective, there is a wealth of information we all can learn from how multiples "work."

So... that's the latest and greatest. Blessings to you for reading this posting. May your day be interwoven with gentle ribbons of laughter.

An Epiphany!

WARNING: This blog is written by an adult survivor of severe childhood abuse. While specific graphic details are not offered, it is entirely possible that this material may be uncomfortable for some readers. If you have any doubt as to whether this may “trigger” you or make you feel unsafe in any way, please STOP reading and click elsewhere. If, while reading this or at any other time, you find yourself feeling unsafe or contemplating hurting yourself, please IMMEDIATELY contact a crisis line or mental health professional. Please – be safe, and be well.

If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of these resources. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targeted groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence.

Here's a link to a list of resources.

Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.

================================================

As I've been dealing with memories long held in the deep recesses of my mind, it's been all too easy to focus on how painful this process is, and not stop to think about how thankful I should be. The very challenges with which I'm dealing (repressed memories, Dissociative Identity Disorder and all it entails) are also the very things that allowed me to make it out of my childhood alive. Without them, I doubt very much that I would have survived. And, if I had survived, I doubt very much that I would have any significant degree of functioning in daily life.

I am learning once again to make peace with the pieces of my puzzle. Each exists for a reason, even if at present I don't recognize what that reason is. Each survivor has their own unique method of coping with the horrors; mine are extreme, in response to extreme circumstances. To expect anything less would be unreasonable.

There is much churning within me, and I sense there will soon be a new blog posting on Multiple Insights; perhaps more than one posting, as there are many voices. But I want to post here as well, and "own" my process. It's not easy to be thankful for the complex (and sometimes very frustrating) system that evolved in response to horrific circumstances - but it is vital that I give recognition and thanks.

By any reasonable standard, I really should never have survived to adulthood. As an infant, I had the Mumps, Measles, and Chicken Pox, all in the first year of life. Ear infections soon thereafter, and assorted other trials. As soon as I learned to walk, I began sleepwalking (all the way out the front door and toward the highway, according to my mother). That says much about my desire to escape the abuse that began so early in life, that I truly cannot determine the point of its genesis. Within my dissociative structure, the alters include little ones, include a pre-verbal child, so obviously something was quite wrong from an early age.

For the moment, however, I am trying to focus on the positive aspects of my situation. And in so doing, I've had a powerful epiphany. I have begun accounting for the enormous amount of energy that is expended in keeping the memories, knowingness and pain at bay. I realize that as I heal these deepest wounds, these most horrific secrets, the energy will be freed to be used in other, more constructive ways.

On Twitter, I posted this recently: "I am Becoming... I am gestating the full, true Spirit within me - I have seen it, and I weep at its beauty." The depth of truth in this statement is beyond words. Especially as I shed the layers of detritus and unwanted baggage, I am awestruck by the wonders of which I will be capable...

Wishing everyone peace for the holidays and beyond! Jo (et al)

The Truth Will Set Me Free

(Yes, I know "Luka" is an old song - but its potency remains, even after decades. And it's so very relevant for me, and other survivors of CSA or PA, or especially those of us who endured the potpourri of CSA, PA, EA, PSA, and every damn other "A" that was possible in childhood...)

WARNING: This blog is written by an adult survivor of severe childhood abuse. While specific graphic details are not offered, it is entirely possible that this material may be uncomfortable for some readers. If you have any doubt as to whether this may “trigger” you or make you feel unsafe in any way, please STOP reading and click elsewhere. If, while reading this or at any other time, you find yourself feeling unsafe or contemplating hurting yourself, please IMMEDIATELY contact a crisis line or mental health professional. Please – be safe, and be well.

If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of these resources. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targeted groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence.

Here's a link to a list of resources.

Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.


================================================


I've been approaching this point, a place of crossroads in my life. I'm faced with a very well-delineated choice about speaking my whole truth, and refusing to be silenced on the most powerful, potentially controversial and even (perhaps) dangerous truth of my situation. Not dangerous to anyone else, mind you, but dangerous for myself.

The idea of speaking this truth publicly scares me so badly that I can barely breathe... And yet I know that until and unless I make that choice, based in courage and free will, my strength will be compromised. I will otherwise spend the rest of my life struggling to contain an explosive truth, one that it's taken everything to contain - at any cost - up to now.

Additionally, I've come to the realization that the resources I've used for decades to contain this information are no longer adequate for the task. Full containment is no longer possible. Thus, I can voluntarily choose to speak my truth, and perhaps help others in the process, or I can wait for the inevitable scenario in which it comes to light in a way for which I'm ill prepared. Clearly, the former choice has merits over the latter.

And so, the decision has been made, and a foundation has been created for the revelation of this truth. Monday, October 9, 2009, you can check either my Twitter page or this blog page for a link to a resource that will illuminate this murky mystery. A few of my close friends on Twitter have already had a chance to review the information, and the feedback thus far has been very positive (though admittedly limited in its scope).

It is my deepest hope that in making this decision, by stepping fully into the light and speaking the truth about my life, my experiences, that perhaps I can assist a few other people who live with similar challenges. If I accomplish that, then it will have been worth it, no matter what anyone else says or thinks.

I plan to spend the weekend in quiet contemplation, as much as possible, though Saturday afternoon my spouse and I are going to see Lord Of the Dance for a matinee performance. I choose to see the performance as rather like a celebration - of many things, perhaps. But chiefly among them are my strength, my courage, and my willingness to admit that I am moving forward not because I feel no fear, but that I am moving forward in spite of it.

Blessings to each and every one of you.

Jo

Memories - Bubbling to the Surface...

WARNING: This blog is written by an adult survivor of severe childhood abuse. While specific graphic details are not offered, it is entirely possible that this material may be uncomfortable for some readers. If you have any doubt as to whether this may “trigger” you or make you feel unsafe in any way, please STOP reading and click elsewhere. If, while reading this or at any other time, you find yourself feeling unsafe or contemplating hurting yourself, please IMMEDIATELY contact a crisis line or mental health professional. Please – be safe, and be well.

If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of these resources. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targeted groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence.

Here's a link to a list of resources.

Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.


================================================


"Children's talent to endure stems from their ignorance of alternatives." - Maya Angelou


Childhood memories… Most adults can simply think back through accumulated childhood memory “data,” and review what happened in their young lives. This review virtually always includes elements and experiences that are poignant or sad. For those children who were allowed to process their childhood experiences at the time they took place, the associated feelings were able to be processed, at least to some degree, at the time of the original experiences. Many children suffered great losses, via the death of a loved one, an abrupt change in the family structure, or other significant and painful changes or other stressors, and these losses are an inherent part of their childhood memories.

For others, however, one’s childhood can be a vast wasteland of the Unknown. Until I was in my 20s, I didn’t remember anything in my childhood prior to age 14. It was as if I suddenly appeared, fully formed at that age, and from there, moved forward through adolescence and onwards toward adulthood. Since it was all I had known, I assumed most or all of my peers experienced something similar; I knew no other model.

In my 20s, I was sexually assaulted by someone I knew and (wrongly) thought I could trust. The assault was so extreme that I had bruises literally from my head to my toes, and I was bleeding from several locations. I endured over six hours of violence, and only when the guy passed out was I able to crawl away, find my clothing, and drive myself home, crying all the way. This was in 1987; still the Dark Ages for sexual assault victims.

On some instinctive level, I knew there was NO way I could endure the horrific invasiveness ~and~ the callous disregard that was typical for that era’s processing of a Rape Kit. I drove myself home, and stood under the shower, sobbing hysterically until the hot water ran out. The man who had assaulted me was the son of an Ambassador to the United States, and I knew even if had tried to have him prosecuted, he would have found refuge under the Diplomatic Immunity umbrella. Fortunately, since we lived in different parts of the state, it easy to avoid seeing him in the future.

In the aftermath of that assault, I found myself unspeakably angry. Not just at the man who had assaulted me, but in a much broader sense. I was angry at the world at large, it seemed. Frankly, my reaction terrified me, because until then, I’d kept my anger bottled up tight in a dark place within me, a place that even I had never previously explored.

I decided I needed help to deal with the anger, and so began therapy. In the course of this work, I gradually allowed myself to face the painful truth that I’d grown up as a child of an alcoholic (my mother). This insight led me to Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACOA), whose meetings I attended for well over a year. A very helpful organization based on the 12-steps that are the foundation of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), ACOA provided a much-needed sense of community. I was able to connect with others whose adult lives had been shaped by the instability and outright danger that are inherent in the life of any child whose parent(s) is/are alcoholic.

(NOTE: I’d left home at the age of 14 because of my mother’s pronounced alcoholism. I knew I needed to leave that environment or I’d “go crazy or die,” as I told my biological father. The particulars of my exodus from my mother’s household are a story in themselves, one I won’t bother to tell in this posting – however, look for it either in future blog postings, or certainly in my upcoming book…)

A few years later, as I approached the age of 30, I found myself in a state of pronounced anxiety and depression. I couldn’t understand or even pinpoint the origins of this unease. Returning once again to therapy, I asked for help in addressing these issues. And thus began the work of opening my own personal Pandora’s Box…

As the work continued, I found myself dealing with an onslaught of images that were like something out of a truly awful horror film, one in which my childhood self was the central figure. Unbidden, and certainly not “suggested” by my therapist, the flashbacks were vivid, very specific, and absolutely repugnant. Over time, I learned that these were recovered memories, experiences so horrible that my young self had simply shelved them. It was impossible for me to retain conscious knowledge of these experiences and also be the “perfect” little girl who was expected to get straight A’s in school – and who was punished severely for even the most minor transgression.

I spent years making peace with these recovered memories, and the broader issues surrounding their creation. During this time, I stopped speaking to my mother entirely. She’d long professed her claim that my childhood was idyllic, and that it was I who was a troublemaker and a problem for HER. She certainly was no alcoholic, for God’s sake – at least not in HER mind. I’d learned enough to understand that I was never going to change my mother, so I stopped trying. And for my own sanity, I simply gave up any contact with her, because it was such a toxic experience.

I continued the work on my issues for a number of years, and got to a place where things were relatively stable, and I felt pretty healthy. I’d gained a lot of insight on my own experiences, and how best to move forward after acquiring the explosive and previously forbidden memories of my childhood.

Eventually, I pursued in-depth spiritual studies as a way to find not just the answers, but the much more important questions. Years of self-study and informal classes in spiritual matters led me to a Multi-Cultural Shamanic apprenticeship, which I undertook for the period of a year. At the end of this, I was ordained as clergy, and I was also attuned as a Reiki Master healer and teacher. And yet, the more I’ve learned, the more I realize that the universe is a vast, mysterious and wonderful place. There are endless volumes of information about what I don’t yet know. I have a deep respect for each person’s spiritual path – that which calls to them is right for them, and I don’t believe anyone has a right to second-guess that. A sense of humility underlies my own practice and approach to healing and spirituality.

For a year or more, I’ve felt a deep sense of unease throughout the depths of my psyche. I’ve known also that the roots of this unease were tied to life events which took place in early childhood – events of which I had very little recollection, or none whatsoever. I’ve found myself dodging the feelings, and having very little interest in what was behind them. On some instinctive level, I know that the foundation of these feelings is substantial, and something that threatens to shift my entire world in ways that I cannot anticipate, and for which I’m not prepared.

During my adult life, I’ve learned that many or most of the moments and influences during my childhood were not something I could simply “remember” like most people. And the more extreme the experience, the more pronounced the containment features that were put in place to prevent me from consciously knowing the information, then or even now – at least, until recently. Yet, rather like a nuclear waste repository within a mountain, eventually the containment breaks down.

The flashbacks have begun unbidden, intruding on my consciousness in ways that are disruptive, unpleasant, and quite surreal. These are the “worst of the worst,” so horrible as to truly be something I cannot attempt to describe, even in the broadest terms, without a very real risk of psychic or emotional damage to the reader or listener. Additionally, I’ve found that even some experiences which I’ve been able to recall for a brief time are often re-submerged into the inky depths of my psyche after an initial, brief appearance in my conscious knowingness. After horrific flashbacks, I’ll talk about them with my partner, or write about them in my journal or book, and then the memory dissipates from my conscious mind, like fog on a winter’s morning. I understand that this is a form of self-protection, and so have given up on my insistence that the memories stay available to me at this point.

I’ve come to the realization that all of my learning, all of the time I’ve spent in therapy, all of my spiritual training, all of my training as a Peer Counselor – all of my life experiences and knowledge, period – have brought me to this place. I am now faced with the most difficult work of my entire life. It is scarier than anything I have known or attempted previously, and I’m not ashamed to say that some days I simply don’t want to “go there.” I also know that I’m better off not making this journey of exploration and recovery without assistance, especially given all I’ve learned about my own rather complex coping mechanisms.

I will be working with a psychiatrist to fine-tune the anti-depressant piece and offer short-term assistance with the night terrors and insomnia, as well as the most extreme PTSD anxiety I’ve ever experienced. Many days, I find myself in an adrenaline overload, shaking, nauseated, and confused. I’m not someone to reach for medication as an answer to life’s everyday issues, but in this case I would be negligent in my self-care if I didn’t ask for the resources that are so obviously needed in the short term.

Finding a psychiatrist who both takes my insurance ~and~ who’s willing to deal with my particular set of issues has been a real challenge. The first doctor I consulted, after a rather exhaustive search, is now known in our household as “Doctor Asshat.” The guy talked a good game, and then – after two sessions – proceeded to inform me that he didn’t even know how to bill insurance, and so couldn’t see me anymore. (He still has my insurance card, even after multiple requests for its return. I’ll be contacting the State Medical Board about him.)

I am also looking for a therapist who is a good fit for my particular experiences. I need someone who can manage their counter-transference, especially, since I have ended up feeling like I have to “protect” other therapists in the past. The experiences I’ve had are so bad that I’ve had previous therapists in tears, even when I describe them in broad terms, omitting as much detail as possible. This time around, things promise to be even bumpier, and I need to have the freedom to vent (at least to some degree) without having to worry about “taking care of” the person who’s helping me to negotiate the dark wilderness of these recovered memories.

Courage

WARNING: This blog is written by an adult survivor of severe childhood abuse. While specific graphic details are not offered, it is entirely possible that this material may be uncomfortable for some readers. If you have any doubt as to whether this may “trigger” you or make you feel unsafe in any way, please STOP reading and click elsewhere. If, while reading this or at any other time, you find yourself feeling unsafe or contemplating hurting yourself, please IMMEDIATELY contact a crisis line or mental health professional. Please – be safe, and be well.

If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of these resources. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targeted groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence.

Here's a link to a list of resources.

Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.


================================================


"The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned." - Maya Angelou


There is a pervasive myth that children who endured horrific abuse - be it sexual, physical, verbal, emotional, or some combination thereof - inevitably grow up to continue the cycle of abuse by victimizing children once they become old enough to do so.

While there certainly are many individuals who meet these criteria, many other survivors (more than half, I would say, based on years of conversations with other survivors) go on to lead lives in which they use their heightened sensitivity to develop and demonstrate compassion to their friends and family, and to the world at large.

I have found the courage to say "This is what happened to me, and yes, it's more horrible than you can even imagine." Having said that, I refuse to own the shame - it belongs with those that committed the atrocities.

While I do the incredibly hard work of dealing with the newly-recovered memories and flashbacks, I will bend but not break. Even on my toughest days, you'll still find me laughing heartily (and genuinely) at life in general, and often at myself.

I had a powerful dream the other night, one in which I was walking through a military hospital ward. The men and women who serve this country serve with honor and distinction. If they're fortunate enough to come back from overseas, they are changed forever - often physically; always emotionally and spiritually. Their sacrifices and bravery are worthy of deep respect. Although I will never wear a military uniform, I can aspire to such courage as they demonstrate.

I am speaking my truth, and refusing to back down, though this work is the scariest thing I've ever done. But if in so doing I will have helped even ONE person - especially a child who doesn't know where to turn - my courage will have been well worth it, and I'll gladly shed all the tears again.