What's The Worst That Could Happen?

I'm not sure if it is a personality trait of mine or whether it is a result of my trauma at an early age, but I tend to have an overactive, extremely imaginative "catastrophe brain". I always expect these horrible, extremely detrimental outcomes to things that almost never come to fruition. I know a lot of it has to do with my obsessive need for control and desire for preparedness, but I'm starting to wonder what purpose it is really serving me.

I had a very intense session with V on Thursday, which left me literally hurt. I could barely walk up the stairs to my apartment and every turn in bed racked my body. My normal outlet for my panic and anxiety have always been panic attacks. I can feel them building up inside me and when they erupt, it is not pretty. But lately my body has been venturing away from the "oh-my-gosh-I'm-going-to-die" panic attacks and routing that energy into my body. I have had horrible stomach pains the last few weeks during sessions, and Thursday that got completely bypassed and sent straight to my muscles. It felt like I had the flu x1000. I have never felt that much pain in my body before. I remember lying in bed thinking, "I wonder if this is what it feels like to have cancer." Even being still hurt. My whole body ached.

Thankfully I woke up Friday morning back to my pain-free self, but was left with the burden of trying to sort through all that was discussed with V. Part of it is still in the denial side of my brain. I talked about things that I have NEVER talked about with anyone. I can't believe I did it. So much so that my brain just isn't ready to call that reality yet. A few other things we discussed I don't think I can even write about here. Embarrassing... for me at least.

But one thing that we did discuss was how my overactive and imaginative brain is keeping me from having the things I want. It keeps me "in my head" too much. And when I'm in my head, I convince myself that everything is scary. That everything is going to hurt me. That I can only be safe if I'm alone. It keeps me stuck in my fear.

V said something to me during this conversation that provided me with an "a-ha moment"; something pretty rare with me.

She told me that the idea of something, whether it's an experience (having sex, being in a relationship) or a feeling (pain, fear) is almost always worse than the actual thing.

And especially with me and this dear sweet imaginative brain of mine, it's probably blown so out of proportion that it's not any wonder why I'm so afraid. I've had almost 15 years of convincing myself that these things are so huge and insurmountable that the idea itself has become it's own Mt. Everest.

So she asked me: "What's the worst that could happen?" and I laughed because I have all these horrible, improbable possibilities mapped out (and have had them for quite some time, I might add) for each of the things that have kept me frozen in fear for so long. I think she knew that I already had a response to her question, but we both knew it wasn't the answer she was looking for.

I was a little embarrassed to admit that I never really thought LOGICALLY about this. My mind has been stuck on irrational overdrive for so long (even though I am by nature, a very rational and logical person) that I never have really sat down to think about how reality is going to be completely different than what is in my mind. Can all these horrible things that I've conjured up in my mind still happen? Sure. But will they? Probably not.

I'm not a kid anymore. I know how to protect myself. I know how to listen to my instincts and trust their guidance. They've never really been wrong before (at least when it's counted). I have so much more power as an adult than I did when I was abused. I'm not going to ever be in that same situation again.

The fact that I can take all of that in and not fight against it tooth and nail is amazing to me. Not long ago I would have argued that because there was even a chance that something bad could happen meant that everything else didn't matter. But I'm taking it in. I'm pushing myself to be logical and really open my mind to the fact that even though I may still feel the things I did when I was a kid, that I'm not actually one anymore.

What Went Right?

Part of my requirements every year as a teacher are to update my state required trainings, such as sexual harassment, CPR/first aid and reporting child abuse.

As I was completing these online, I started thinking about the video that was part of the child abuse training and my own experience.

My abuse took place over the summer between my 8th and 9th grade year, so any immediate changes in my behavior would have only been noticed by my parents and/or family. Since I started the school year with new teachers, they had no idea if my behavior was any different than my norm. I have distinct memories of struggling in school during my 9th grade year. I remember sleeping in class, not feeling motivated, even spending a lot of time in the nurse's office. Definitely not how I would normally act. But no one could know that. I remember writing about what happened that summer in English class, I think more about having to go the police station and court rather than specifics of the abuse, hoping that at least she would notice how much pain I was in... but nothing ever happened. She never said anything to me, the counselor never called me in. It was like disclosing and not being heard. It made me feel even worse than I already did. And I never forgot that.

But as I was watching this video, I was shocked by some of the statistics. Only one in ten children who are abused ever disclose to anyone. One in ten. Part of me understands why this number is so low because a lot of children are abused by their parents and they have that internal struggle of hating the abuse and wishing it would stop and loving their parents. To think of myself as that one person in a group of ten abused children who told someone is kind of crazy. Why was I able to tell when so many others can't? What in me is different?

I struggle with focusing on the things that went wrong and the things I can't/couldn't control in regards to my abuse. It causes me so much anxiety and hurt. In all honesty, I don't think I've ever taken a step back and thought to myself "What went right?" until I sat down an watched this video. Even though I experienced this trauma, there were things that kept it from being even more horrendous than it was. I've never given that any acknowledgement or weight in my mind... until today.

• I was educated by my parents to know that what happened to me wasn't normal/OK.
• I knew I needed to tell an adult, regardless of what I was told by him.
• I had a mother I trusted enough to tell what he did to me (not all of it, but enough to make it stop).
• My dad kicked him out of the house and made our home safe again.
• I had parents who never doubted what I said or made me think I was wrong for disclosing.
• I had parents who knew I needed more help than what they knew how to give me, so they put me in counseling. Unfortunately I couldn't talk about it and they thought this cleared them of any support required at home, so I never benefitted from it, but they tried.
• The justice system worked and punished him for his actions.
• My parents never treated me any different after they found out what happened. I was still who I was before.
• It never happened again.

To think that had I not said anything, I could have lived the rest of my life under the same roof as him, shuddering every time the door opened or every time the shower turned on, it's hard to swallow. I have never given myself any recognition or support for doing the thing that so many kids don't ever do...

I TOLD.

What Language Does Your Abuse Speak?

My session with V today has left me with a lot to ponder. I'm already an analytical person, but I've got so much going on in my head right now that I've written, erased and re-started this entry about 10 times already because I can't seem to organize my thoughts.

I am one really $*%)! complicated person. I mean I know no one is simple, but I swear with every passing day I find out things about myself that are contradictory or frustrating. Only I can manage to piss myself off without even trying.

Fear is keeping me from progressing in therapy right now. I'm so afraid that any topic I approach or old wound I open up is going to result in the same reactions I had the last time I tried. Crippling panic attacks, constant fear, cutting, no hope. I allowed myself to think about and confront things I had never even come close before, and I just about ended up in the hospital. It took me almost 3 months off of work to recover. But when I think back to those first three months with V, I feel like I accomplished something. Even though those months sucked and I would never want to feel like that again, I feel like it wasn't a waste of time or effort.

These last 4 months have felt so unproductive. I haven't pushed myself to really talk about or feel anything difficult, because this fear in the back of my mind is slamming that door closed every time I approach it. The logical side of me is screaming "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING? DO YOU WANT TO FEEL THAT WAY AGAIN?!?!", yet I'm also battling with the undeniable fact that the only way I am going to be able to heal from and let go of these hurts I've been carrying around for so long is to talk about, process through and feel them.

I want to feel like I'm not wasting my time (and V's). I don't right now. I hate it.

I'm so frustrated with myself. I feel like I've lost faith in my entire existence. Like everything I do is futile. No matter how hard I work or how much I want something, I'm doomed. The world is going to spite me and give me the exact opposite.

I feel defeated.

And yet, to be even more contradictory, another part of me feels as though if I can eventually get to a place where I can let these walls down, that I will recover. It seems possible in every aspect of my life... except one.

Even though I sought out and have been going to therapy with the goal of recovering from my abuse, a big part of me doesn't believe it is possible. That no matter how hard I work or what I do, this will always be what defines me. I will never escape it. I will always be afraid. I will always be that 13 year old.

I mean, look at all I've been through over the past 9 months. I got to a point that I wanted to kill myself. I mean actually wanted to end my life. I had NO HOPE. And even going through all of that, I still feel like nothing has changed. I'm still just as afraid as I was then. Just as defined by my abuse as I was then. Why should I think it'll ever get better? I almost killed myself trying to make it better.

Then V said something to me that seemed so painfully simple and obvious, yet brought me almost immediate hope.

"Your abuse speaks a different language."

Don't worry, I'm going to clarify (as you are probably thinking the same thing I was: uhhh, what does that mean?). The little things I've been able to improve upon with V, like learning how to be in the moment, my relationship with my mom, coping with stressors in life without cutting, etc speak one language. Certain methods and approaches work very well in confronting those things, all the while challenging me, pushing me and allowing me to see success.

The "language" V used for those things was obviously not the right "language" for my abuse.

I left tonight feeling more hopeful than I have in a very long time. Maybe, just maybe, we can figure out what the right language is for my abuse. And maybe, just maybe, I can heal.

Worst. Week. Ever.

The past 7 days have been probably the worst of my life. I have been to hell and back.

Last Thursday I started becoming extremely suicidal. Thankfully I had an appointment with my psychiatrist that day and she put me on a mood stabilizer right then. I wasn't honest with her about all the thoughts I was having because I did not want her to admit me to the hospital. It got worse Friday and Saturday. I really wanted to die. I started feeling better on Sunday, but was still extremely depressed. I didn't go to IOP on Monday because the roads were too icy to drive, but I did meet with V Monday night. She and my psychiatrist both thought it would be a good idea for me to voluntarily admit myself to the hospital. I really didn't want to do that, but allowed myself to be persuaded to try it. V went with me Tuesday to check into the hospital and once they walked us into the unit I freaked out. Like literally lost it. They had to put me in a room to calm down. V did her best to convince me to stay, but I couldn't. I was terrified of being "locked" up there. I felt really bad for wasting her time, she was there with me for almost 2 hours, but I just couldn't stay there.

V asked me to commit to doing PHP since I didn't agree to staying at the hospital and she wanted me to get more intensive help than what IOP could offer. I didn't want to do PHP originally because it was a coed group but I went Wednesday to this new group. I hated it. I was surrounded by detoxing men and felt so out of place. I left and called my IOP therapist to see if I could come back.

I had to be re-assessed and re-admitted since I had been MIA for 3 days. By the time I got done filling out the paperwork again, the clinician came in and told me that the women's group (the IOP program I had started) was being dissolved because there weren't enough people. I started freaking out again. I had no idea what I was going to do. I left the center to go to my session with V. By the time I got to her office they called and said they had another admission and that IOP was back on for Thursday.

I was so afraid of my session with V. I was so ashamed of how I reacted at the hospital and I was afraid she was mad at me. I definitely wasn't expecting the conversation that we had, but looking back at a more stable place I can't say I'm surprised that we had this conversation.

V told me that she allowed herself to get too emotionally involved with everything going on with me. She told me that over the last 2 weeks she was making decisions more as a mother or friend than as my therapist. She said the maternal side of her kicked in and she allowed her judgement to be affected by her emotions and feelings. She was so worried about me killing myself that she put me and my needs above her own. She was frustrated with herself because she didn't realize she was doing that until she left the hospital feeling emotionally and physically drained from watching and helping me through my freakout. Her decisions had enabled me to continue running to her any time things got hard (which I was doing... e-mailing, calling, texting, sessions 3 or 4x a week) and not allowing myself to reach out to anyone else for help. I literally got to a point over these last few weeks where I could barely function without talking to her. And like her, I didn't realize it in the moment. I felt bad that I had put such a strain on our professional relationship because of everything, but at the same time I felt so loved and supported in hearing her say just how much she cared for me and did all these things because she wanted to make sure that I stayed safe. I made sure to tell her how much I appreciated everything she did for me and that had she not been there to support me, I really felt as though I would have killed myself.

We talked a little bit about how things needed to change, as far as my treatment in IOP, how I needed to step back from relying on her so much and allow myself to be open to the group and therapist and what they can offer me. She told me there are things she is going to do differently as well, pertaining to how accessible she is to me. Part of the reason I became so dependent on her and unable to do anything on my own is because I could call, email or text her at anytime and she'd always respond. That is something that is not going to happen anymore. Obviously in emergencies this doesn't apply, but if she is always there to put out my fires, I'll never be able to figure out how to apply what we talk about in sessions.

I was scared when we were having this conversation because the insecure part of me thought this meant that she was no longer going to treat me, but I knew that I was overreacting. V has always wanted nothing more to help me heal, and this is just another step in the process.

So I went to IOP yesterday with a different outlook on how it was going to help me. I did my best to push myself to be present in the moment, be vulnerable and allow myself to trust that the group and therapist were not going to judge me. It was hard. Very hard. I started to talk about my abuse and abuser, but was still too afraid to talk specifically about what happened. I wish I could have done more, but this is a process. I can't do it all in one day. I had kind of a rough afternoon, having a panic attack at the grocery store and then another at home. It's not surprising since I am opening up about these secrets, but it still sucks.

I woke up today ready to go back to IOP and push myself more. Unfortunately the admission that was supposed to start today to make our group "big enough" didn't show up so they cancelled it. The group therapist offered to transfer us to the other program at the center, but it's lead by a male and focuses on chemical dependency. That is not going to help me. So now I am on standby for treatment. If someone else signs up over the weekend, we'll have IOP on Monday and Tuesday, if not we won't meet again until Wednesday when the next admission starts. I'm frustrated because I am ready to be working now, and I have to wait around. Right now I still have paid days to use, but those are going to run out next week. There is a chance I will qualify for the sick leave bank from work where they will give me donated paid days to use. That would be great, but I would hate to waste them sitting at home.

This weekend is going to be rough. No sessions with V, I can't allow myself to contact her, all my friends will be at our church retreat which I planned to go to, but when I was going to be hospitalized I had them refund my money since I wasn't sure I was going to be able to go. I hate feeling so alone. I hope my depression doesn't deepen because of this weekend.

Scared

Things have gotten bad enough that V had to escort me to the hospital this morning. I'm being admitted to the PHP program for women.

Lots of unknowns right now. How long I will have to take off of work, if I will qualify for paid leave, what treatment is going to be like, etc. I sure could use some prayers... Life is really scary right now.

Fact or Fiction?

I'm so glad I have another week off. Don't get me wrong, I loved flying out to California to see my dad and actually had a really fun Christmas with my mom and sister, but I need some time for me. Doing things I want to do, not things I feel obligated to do.

I've had 3 bad nights in a row stemming from a conversation I had with my little sister on the plane home from California. V had been talking to me about possibly talking to her to see if she could help fill in some holes I have in my memory immediately after I was abused. I don't know where the courage came from, but I asked her about things I never thought I would. What happened after I came out of the bedroom? What happened when we got home? What did Mom say/do? What did I say/do?

Some things I had snippets of, other things I had completely out of order in which they actually happened, other things I don't remember at all. My sister was so helpful in telling me what she remembered, which is a blessing since she was only 10 years old at the time. I told her I worried about her having to go through the same thing I have over the past few years. She asked me if I had PTSD, to which I told her the truth; yes. I asked her how she was able to go through life without having the abuse affect her as much as it did me. She talked a little bit about her own abuse, which she has never done... at least not since that day that she disclosed her abuse to me and my mom. She was spared the invasive nature of abuse that I suffered, which explains to me a little more about how she can shrug it off so easily.

She and I are so different in how we react to things. She blows up immediately and then is basically over it, I am extremely sensitive and hold things in. I think she really began to understand why I have had such a hard time with this. Why I'm afraid to be in a relationship. How hard it is to feel the pressure from our family to get married when they have no idea what it's like to carry this burden.

After we got home Thursday night and I laid down to go to sleep, I was inundated with flashbacks and vivid replays of things that were brought out and dusted off from that conversation. They invoked physical reactions and sensations that make me want to vomit. I've been so confused. Am I remembering actual events or is it my mind projecting things with this new information to fill in the blanks?

I may never know...

Too Much, Too Fast

I was not looking forward to my session at all yesterday. After the hellacious aftermath of Thursday's session I was about ready to kiss therapy good-bye and welcome back my good friend denial.

So as I settle into V's office last night, she asks me to update her since I last talked to her (which was on Saturday). She had offered to see me Saturday morning, but I declined because I just couldn't imagine trying to process more when my mind was struggling to sift through the overload from Thursday. I was more specific with her about how horrible Friday was, and how it carried over into the weekend but that I was feeling better. I told her I was worried about coming in that evening because I didn't want to leave feeling so unhinged and fearful. I thought about cancelling, which I never do.

What happened next was something I was not expecting. She apologized. Huh? I was confused. Why in the world was she apologizing to me? I was the one calling and e-mailing her when I couldn't keep it together. I should be apologizing for bugging her so much. Yet she apologized for pushing me to confront too much, too fast. She said the way she worded the comment that totally unraveled me ("He could have killed you," see last post) was too harsh and she felt like it was her fault for putting me in a place that forced me to confront some scary feelings that I obviously wasn't ready for (as per my physical and PTSD reactions over the weekend). I hadn't really thought about that, but her comment definitely threw a huge kink in my otherwise very fluid system of fake truths and quasi-denial. Coming to terms with the truth of that statement was extremely unsettling (for obvious reasons) but even more so because it completely shut down the belief system that I have been relying on for the past 13 years. How in the world am I supposed to adjust to that? Apparently I wasn't ready. At all. I guess that's why she was apologizing. I know she did not mean to affect me in that way, nor could she have known I would have reacted as intensely as I did, but she was worried that I was going to be afraid to commit as much and hold back more because of how much it hurt me. LOL, was it that obvious? I didn't even have to say it for her to know that's what I was feeling.

I already hold back a lot when I'm in session. I still have not gotten to the point that I can let something in and immediately react to it. I don't feel comfortable showing raw emotions in front of people. I will go home, process it, go through a whole cycle of emotions by myself, then be ready to talk about it later, still keeping the emotions out of the mix. V and I have talked about this already. I am completely honest in telling her when I am holding back emotions that have been brought up by questions she asked or things I've talked about. But I've also told her I want to eventually be able to react to something initially, without holding anything back. It's exhausting to have to wait to be alone, try to understand a whole slew of confusing feelings, then shove them back down for the sake of feeling safe. I don't want to do that, but right now it's the only thing that I know how to do...

So after talking about all of this, V made sure to let me know that she would not push me as hard as she did Thursday, not because I can't take it (because I could, it would just suck 24/7) but because she wants me to feel safe with her, and does not want to hurt me. That was so comforting to hear, for so many reasons. Knowing that she really does care about my well-being is probably the biggest thing for me, but also knowing that I didn't even have to say anything about this for her to know that it was too much for me to handle. That just blows my mind. I'm so grateful for her.

The rest of our session she lead me back to what we were talking about Thursday, carefully. She asked me more about my reactions to what we talked about as opposed to taking me back to that moment in time. I got upset and teary-eyed a few times when her questions got me thinking about all the emotion that was brought up as I was processing alone. I am horrible at putting what I'm feeling into words, especially emotionally charged things. It was frustrating for me to be so upset and not be able to explain why... and that is basically where I am all the time now, it seems.

All in all, I left Monday night feeling much more stable and safe than I expected. I'm interested to see how tomorrow goes...

Revelations

My session with V on Thursday was intense. My body has responded by throwing me in a tailspin of uncontrollable panic attacks and horrible mood swings. I had to leave work Friday because I couldn't get myself under control. I can't even begin to wrap my head around how much I am going to have to release to heal. God help me.

"He could have killed you." It's scary how true those words are. If he wanted to, he could have killed me. No doubt. He was so much stronger than I was. To hear that I possibly saved my own life by not fighting back is a double-edged sword. Horrible to think that I could have ever been in that much danger, yet good because for once I can sincerely acknowledge that I did not and could not have had as much control as I pretend I could have. That throws a kink in my belief that I could have done anything to stop him... something I've all but convinced myself was true. But seeds of doubt are growing and I'm beginning to see that for exactly what it is: not true. As scary as it is to ponder what my reaction would be if I was placed in the same (or worse) situation now, overpowered by someone bigger than me, terrified and hurt, I wouldn't think my reaction would be any different. I would do what I thought would be safest for me and not fight back; live to see another day. Being able to identify this for the first time ever is already making it harder to blame the 13 year old for doing the exact same thing. Yet, I'm stuck in a place where I don't know what to do with that. So much focus and thought has been spent on the "what if's" that I started taking on the blame. If I suddenly don't acknowledge them anymore, where does all that emotion go? I can attempt to throw it all on him, but it's like two opposing sides of a magnet; no matter how hard you keep pushing, it'll keep getting bounced off or thrown back. Why can't I feel ANYTHING about him? There literally is nothing there. It just doesn't make sense. I wish I could understand why, that of everyone in my life at that time, he is the only one who never got any anger. Everyone else has, either directly or indirectly. I have hated them all for lesser things. But not him. Why have I made him immune to my emotions?

-- Journal writing from Thursday night, post session

Two Different People

My work this summer with A has been focused a lot on relationships. Good in the sense that it needs to be dealt with so I can finally be ready to be in one, bad because it is a very scary topic for me. Lots of things I've never discussed with anyone. Ever.

One of the things we have been discussing is how different I am at work than how I am in my personal life. I am literally two different people. The reason for that is obvious (to me at least). There is no threat of anything sexual happening to me at work. My company employs about 95% women. Work is safe for me. So with that understanding, I don't feel like I'm in danger. At work I am confident, assertive, outspoken, and driven. I don't let people take advantage of me. I make sure my opinions are heard.

But as soon as I walk out of the building, the world becomes a scary place again. One filled with men who want to take advantage of me and use me for sex. However black and white that statement is, I believe it is true. And my perception of this truth has kept me away from relationships of any kind. I can sit there and logically go through what I bring to a relationship, but to me, that doesn't matter because I feel like I will always be wanted for my body. I always read that in order to have a healthy relationship/marriage, a healthy sex life needs to be a part of that. For me, putting the words healthy and sex together is like putting oil and water together. They just don't mix.

So in my personal life, I have always had these huge insurmountable walls up to keep me from getting hurt. Having to put those walls up makes me awkward, scared and generally unapproachable with guys. I'm sure my body language just screams "STAY AWAY!". I never have the feeling of confidence, assertiveness or anything similar to what I feel when I am at work. It's always fear. It's always that voice in my head telling me "He's not really interested in talking to you or spending time with you, he just wants to sleep with you."

I told A I felt like the person I am at work is the person I would have been in every aspect of my life if M (my abuser) had never been in it. She looked at me and asked "Why are you letting M still have this power over you?"

To which I have no answer. Not yet, at least.

The Physical Conundrum

I'm back from California! One family reunion and two earthquakes later (one was a BIG one!) I am safely back at home :) I had a great time and got tons of pictures. 4 generations of my family all in one place. I love them so much!

I got back last night and made it an even later night due to a hair nightmare. Long story short is the salon coloring I got ended up turning maroon, so I decided to try a home remedy to release some of the red. Well that left my hair jet black (it's normally a light reddish brown). Two failed attempts at lightening it with store bought dye and I finally gave up at 1AM. Headed to Sally Beauty right at 9AM to get dye stripper to take out the black, turned my hair traffic cone orange (which is what it is supposed to do so you can re-dye it). Finally started re-dying it at 10:30 with my normal hair color, but forgot that stripping your hair makes it hold onto dye quicker and more deeply, and that I needed to cut the processing time in half. So my hair came out a deep chocolate brown with reddish tint as opposed to a lighter brown. It doesn't look bad, it'll just take some getting used to (and highlights once my scalp has time to heal from the massive doses of chemicals it received in a 12 hour period, LOL).

Oh, and of course I had a session today with A and had to be seen in public. I finished up with my hair at 11:40 and had just enough time to get dressed and gun it to her office for my appointment at 12.

She commented on how much she loved my hair. I chose not to elaborate on the craziness that was the entire process of this hair, but said something to the effect of "It's a little darker than I wanted, but thank you." LOL, if she only knew.

I didn't really have a clear picture of what I wanted to talk about with A today, especially given the fact that I was so far removed from my normal routine/thoughts/actions for the past week. We bounced around on a few things, cutting being one of them and how I'm still having desires to do so. I don't want to result to hurting myself as a means to cope, but in one form or another I have always done that. The first 8 years after the abuse I used food to harm my physical self. When I kicked that, I turned to cutting. I have always had a physical outlet for my pain.

She asked me what pain I am trying to compensate for. I have been having obsessive thoughts lately about a memory that is bothersome to me. This memory involves me being alone with my abuser. It is constantly on my mind. I told her I didn't feel like I should be bringing up something that we had already worked on, but that these recurrent thoughts/dreams were upsetting. I always hesitate bringing up the abuse with A, because after spending time on it already I am worried she'll be thinking "Oh gosh, this again. Doesn't she know that this is not the only thing she needs to work on?!" I started crying because I was frustrated with myself for thinking this. I told her it made me think that because I keep coming back to this that I think I'm never going to get over this or feel like it isn't this huge weight that is following me around.

She challenged me to think about whether or not that was me, the 13 year old saying that or me, the adult saying that. To which I replied, I have no idea. I feel as though I quit maturing at age 13. I feel like I am no where near where a girl my age should be emotionally.

Somehow we got on the topic of touch. It started with me obsessing over these memories, constantly replaying all the times M touched me. I happened to mention the horrific sunburn I got a few weeks ago playing into my still very present fear of touch because I wouldn't allow anyone to touch me to apply sunscreen in places I couldn't reach. I freak out at the prospect of going to the doctor because it leaves me in a very vulnerable place. Will they touch me or not? It's gotten better as I have established long lasting histories with my OB-GYN and family doctor (who just in the past year learned of my abuse), but it is always in the forefront of my mind. As for anyone else, the only safe place to touch me is on my hands or feet. Anything else and you have inadvertently triggered internal reactions and thoughts so shaming I can't even write about them.

And yet, as much as I freak out at the prospect of physical contact, my body is craving it. I think that is partially why I cut. It gives me such a deep physical feeling and reaction. It calms me down. Think of it as a big hug. A big hug that scars you. I notice that when I get really anxious, I become extremely tactile. I always start pinching myself or scratching myself to stimulate some sort of physical feeling. As a kid, I started suffering from trichotillomania. Even then apparently I wasn't getting my physical needs met and started producing them for myself. I still to this day suffer with trich.

I am being pulled in two directions. The idea of anyone touching me anyplace from knee to shoulder is terrifying. I have been my own source of touch for so long I have tainted the idea of anyone else ever doing so in a loving/healthy manner. Yet, I crave it so much that I am finding more extreme ways to produce the physical feelings that my body desires.

And I am now without that physical aspect of my healing. Ever since A's ultimatum, I haven't cut. And ever since my anxiety has been steadily increasing. It's all starting to make sense. But what isn't clear is how things will end. No, that would be too easy.

You Can't Hide

Some days I feel so care free, I wonder if I imagined the terror of the last 2 years, or the abuse itself.

I'm not really sure what God wants me to take from today.

A parent of one of my students sent me an e-mail asking me to call her. She had something she needed to get my advice on but didn't want to discuss it via e-mail. I've known this woman for 4 years, as I had her older son in 2006. She subs for me on occasion so we've built a pretty advanced relationship for a teacher/parent. I wasn't really sure what she wanted to talk to me about, but was surprised when she told me she was concerned about one of the teachers in our department. Her son has this teacher and has said throughout the year that this teacher makes him really uncomfortable. Last weekend while at church her son and a bunch of his friends (who also go to my school) were talking about how he's always rubbing their backs, and calling them by little pet names and how it creeps them out. She said that her older son said the same thing when he was there, too, but she didn't really think too much about it because she thought it was just her son being over-sensitive.

The whole time I was thinking "Everything she is saying sounds exactly like what M used to do to me."

I could tell she was struggling with how to handle it as a mom, to go directly to the teacher (awkward) or to the administration (awkward again, but how do you make it non-accusational since he hasn't done anything and ensure that her son isn't singled out). She was trying to convince herself that it wasn't anything, that she was the one overreacting...

"He's married right? Not that it matters, but maybe it does."

All the while I'm thinking "Yeah. M was married... and had kids... and was friends with my entire family. It doesn't matter at all. That's what most of them are good at."

"It just takes one vulnerable kid in the wrong place at the right time."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"It's probably nothing, but it has really been bothering me and I needed to talk to someone about it and see how I should proceed."

"Man, I wish my mom would have listened to me when I told her how uncomfortable M made me feel when he was always touching me."

I was able to stay composed and (hopefully) helpful in the conversation and we came up with a solution. I will be talking to our male assistant principal Monday in order to maintain confidentiality (and keep her son safe from being singled out). This way, the conversation with this other teacher can be male-to-male and with as few people knowing as possible.

How in the world is this happening in now seeping into my professional life? Can I not hide from it ever? Do I constantly have to be reminded of the fact that I was vulnerable? That no one listened to me? I am upset. I am confused. I am not feeling care-free anymore.

Pushing Away

This is my coping mechanism when I am scared. I push away. More so, distance myself before you can hurt me.

My session Tuesday with A was centered around this letter that I wrote to myself. Almost everything in it was an "I'm sorry" statement for something that someone did (or didn't do) that hurt me.

There are many times in my childhood where I was in pain. Doing as kids do, I tested my boundaries and tried to determine what kind of response I was going to get for my pain. Physical pain got the most immediate response/attention. I was a clumsy kid, but never broke any bones or had anything catastrophic happen. I remember two specific instances where I tried to intentionally sprain or break my wrist to get attention. I did a pretty good job, as both got me trips to the ER, but the attention was short lived and left me yearning for more.

Emotional pain acknowledgement was almost non-existent. My parents never were in tune with how things made me feel, what I needed from them, or if things hurt me. They still think that because I cried easily (when appropriate, like at a sad movie or when something upset me) that it meant I could release my emotions and not need anything else.

So I learned that unless I wanted to be in constant physical pain (self-inflicted of course) that I wasn't going to get what I wanted and needed from my parents. So what do kids do when they have no options? I got myself an attitude and terrorized my little sister. Bad attention was better than no attention. I started stealing when I was in the 6th grade. From my teachers mostly, but then I graduated to my mom. I felt less guilt there. She owed me right? I just kept pushing and pushing, hoping that I'd find a way to get what I wanted.

All of these instances and behaviors were already in place BEFORE I was abused. I wasn't getting what I needed before my life got upended with the life-altering experience of sexual abuse. So when I disclosed to my mom what had happened, I really expected her to be there for me. If this wasn't bad enough for me to get a hug, a tear, some screaming rage at who hurt me, then nothing would be.

I was a kid. Kids are resilient. Kids are trusting. Kids are hopeful. In the face of a life where everything has proved to them otherwise, they still think the good things can happen. I still hoped they could, too.

So I started testing the waters again. What support was I going to get? How do I have to play this? My support was being handed off to a counselor once a week. I remember her, she was nice. I don't ever remember talking about the abuse. I didn't want her. The first 4 months after the abuse, it was everywhere. Counseling, visits to the police station, interviews with the detectives, meeting the prosecutors, etc. Even with all of that going on... nothing. Not even a discussion, let alone support. When everything died down, my hope went with it. Insurance got changed and I no longer could go to counseling. The continued silence at home told me I wasn't going to get what I wanted. So my resiliency turned into denial. I shoved everything inside myself and went on with life, keeping everyone at an arm's length so they couldn't hurt me.

I started realizing all of this around April of last year. I started noticing how much I hated being around my mom, that just her presence or the thought of her brought out this bitter, angry, passive aggressive person. I pushed myself away from her, for my own sanity, but due to the co-dependent nature of my mom, she would not let go. She confronted me about my behavior in June of last year and I let her have it. The truth. Not 100% of the truth, but enough of the truth for her to know what I was going through at the time for her to know that I needed some space to figure things out without having her hovering over me. (See this post for more info).

Things settled down and are at a more comfortable place for me now, but around Christmas I started noticing my patience and desire to be around her were heading in the same direction. I can feel myself pushing away from her again. All of this work dealing with the absence of things I needed as an abused child is bringing up so much pain that I can hardly look at my mom and think of anything else.

The girl who has done so much healing in this past year is falling back on hope again. She's hoping that her mom will be different this time. She's hoping her mom will acknowledge her pain; past, present and future. The hope is what hurts the most.

Up and Down

Wow, this week has been certifiably insane. Seriously.

I finally am sitting down now to do some reflection on the challenges that I have faced over the past 7 days and I a tad overwhelmed just thinking about it all. Tuesday night was the absolute worst, throwing me for a huge loop that I wouldn't have even dreamed about. I initially was very upset. I called out to God...

"Why is this happening?! Of all things? Of all people? What is the purpose of this? What am I supposed to learn here because it just seems unfair!"

I sat with my frustration and anger and realized that God was keeping me safe. I could adapt.

I chose to do my homework Wednesday, and although it was easy enough to punch out, the subject material is what scares me. I'm going to have to talk about it; work through it. It's something I have been avoiding for quite some time. Until I work through my fears with A, I won't be able to be in a relationship. My fears are holding me back. I just have never admitted this fear to anyone before.

Thursday was C.R. and this week's focus was on a testimony rather than a lesson. Our min.istry leader was going to be sharing her story again. When I walked into my first C.R. meeting at my current church, her testimony was the focus for that night as well. It was the reason I felt strong enough to stay. Listening to it again, I was surprised at how I reacted to it. The main thing that I focused on and connected to the first time was the fact that she was sexually abused too. It made me feel validated even though our stories are so different. Thursday night was harder. I have been struggling big time with minimizing my abuse, so when I sat there listening to the repeated horrors of her life, there was this little voice in the back of my head telling me I shouldn't be so upset about mine, or that mine didn't count. Sharp contrast from 7 months ago. I talked a little bit about that during our small group time, as well as my relapse with cutting. Every week I am with these amazing women that are going through such life-altering journies and I can see their pain. Right now I don't feel the same pain that I used to, and it's causing me to convince (brainwash?) myself that I made it up. It's frustrating.

I spent most of Sunday in a bubble of anxiety because I had my annual appointment with my OBGYN today. Last year was a catastrophe. I disclosed to her my abuse, depression, suicidal thoughts, etc. and proceeded to have multiple panic attacks during my exam. I was so afraid that was going to happen again. Logic wasn't really working for me.

When I decided to cut last weekend, it was for a couple of reasons. One because I was so out of control emotionally and just WANTED to, and two because I knew this appointment was coming up. I was having such a hard time even convincing myself that my abuse really affects me, let alone other people. I wanted proof. Proof that it is still affecting me. Proof that someone else could see. The cutting proves that. So Sunday night I took a peek at my cuts and decided they weren't BOLD enough. I fixed that.

*sigh*

What am I going to tell A? I promised her I wouldn't. I did it for a stupidly crazy reason that I am ashamed to write about, let alone disclose to her.

And I still feel the same way I did before. I'm sure she saw them, but what did she think?? Crazy dog attack or purposeful self harm? Recognition of a hard journey or the thought that maybe it wasn't that bad after all? I have a feeling if I can't get myself out of this unhealthy mindset I am in, I'll be trying to figure it out again when I have to go back next month.

Believe in Yourself

My week has been pretty unstable. I had a very rough session Tuesday that involved a lot of acknowledgement of pain and suffering that I have never really come face to face with. My shift in thinking has gone from the physical act of the abuse to the emotional impact it has had. She (A) compared it to the shift in perspective from child to adult. I am finally understanding how I wished my parents had reacted to my abuse, and how I would react if this were to happen to someone I loved, and it is making me feel this pain I never realized I had. That's the shift in pain that I've talked about lately.

My homework was to write a response to the blog entry I had her read the previous week; my January 1st entry. It was hard for me to sit down and write it because that "new" pain was so fresh. I didn't react well to it and ended up getting so overwhelmed that I cut for the first time in almost 3 months. I could have stopped myself, but I just didn't want to. I needed that physical release.

So because this was so heavy for me to write, I knew it was all the more important for me to read. Not have her read, but for me to speak the words. Of course doing that generally sparks a huge onset of panic, and this time was no different. I struggled with even starting. I sat there for probably 10 minutes before I just looked A and told her I didn't think I could read it. Slowly leading me in, she had me just read the first sentence. Then the second. Before long I read the whole thing heaving and crying like a fool, letting the panic of the situation completely take over me.

We didn't really talk about my reading specifically, but more of what it represented and the messages it conveyed to her. Again, when I am in panic mode I don't form good memories. What we discussed directly after that is a fog. Once I was able to calm down, I can remember more clearly. I talked to her about how I was afraid of approaching something that is causing me this new feeling of pain, because of how overwhelmed and out of control it made me feel. I did not disclose to her that I cut over the weekend... I was too ashamed. I tried to lead her into asking me about it, but it wasn't until I specifically said that I was afraid of approaching anything else this week through homework or on my own because I was afraid that I was going to do what I did to cope with those feelings again... she finally was able to arrive where I was hoping she would without me having to say it. Cutting is such a shameful thing for me. I don't like admitting that I do it. I always feel like I'm letting her down when I can't find another way to release.

One of her first responses is to ask me if I can make a commitment not to cut until our next meeting (where she will ask me again!). Having just been through a panic attack, asking me to give up the one thing that makes me feel better was just going to make it worse, so I immediately put my eyes to the floor and waited for that question. Sure enough, there it was and I could feel that surge of panic. I told her no, that I couldn't commit to it. She told me to look at her. She asked me again. Will you make the commitment? No again.

I have never been that hesitant with agreeing. I have always (reluctantly) agreed that I would not cut for the rest of the week until I saw her again. She knows how guilty I feel when I do fall back on it. She asked me to look up at her again. I know you are strong enough to commit to doing this. I know how guilty you feel because of this. You have always done it before and I know you can do it again.

I think I can. I think I will.

A "New" Hurt

My session on Tuesday went well. Most of the time was spent going over the characteristics of a healthy relationship that I desire most as well as things that I think I can offer in a relationship. Both presented a challenge for me when compiling these lists, as I don't ever think that my presence in someone's life is something beneficial or desired. As it pertained to what I want in a relationship, that presented its own challenges; one because I haven't ever had a long-term relationship and two because the models that I have been surrounded with my whole life are very unhealthy. I was able to think about what I didn't want and in turn form basic ideas of what I do want.

I couldn't believe I could talk so openly with A about these things. In the past if anything remotely connecting to dating was brought up, I would turn into this scared, meek girl who was afraid to think about, let alone talk about the questions posed. It was strangely empowering. Even A noticed and commented on how confident I seemed and how different that was to how my reactions used to be. I definitely agreed, but made sure to let her know that while I do feel a lot more confident, I am still very fearful. I am still very anxious.

We still had some time left over after these topics, and I toyed with the idea of talking about what I blogged about last time. It continued to affect me throughout the weekend and was something I knew I needed to talk about eventually, whether or not it was right then or in the near future. Even still, I couldn't actually verbalize what was bothering me. I couldn't SAY the words that I was able to type. So instead, I told A that I had blogged about it and that I'd like her to read it since I couldn't muster up the courage to say it.

I copied and pasted it into a word document for her and she sat down at her desk and read it, while I could feel myself retreat to someplace else. I felt scared about revealing these thoughts. The all too familiar feeling of shame just washed over me. It's very hard for me to process when this happens. I am reduced to one word answers and almost no emotion. I can't focus on anything but the fear. It's often very hard for me to remember what exactly was discussed when I feel this way. I know she said she saw two things that stood out to her in my post. One that there was an acknowledgement of healing on my part, with the recognition of the fact that the pain is diminishing and getting easier to handle. The other thing had to do with the paragraphs I wrote about trying to figure out why my abuse was any different than the anonymous poster's. She identified this as something that was detrimental to my healing, along the same lines as false guilt... but for the life of me I cannot remember what she said. The fear had already taken over.

I keep revisiting it in hopes to conjure up some sort of new information, but so far I'm coming up blank.

Confusion

***Trigger Warning***

I've been thinking a lot lately about my abuse.

It started off just reflecting on my year, realizing how far I have come from this time last year. I hadn't even disclosed my abuse to A a year ago. I didn't even think I could talk about it. I was so afraid. The pain was so fresh. That pain has dulled a lot over the past 12 months, for which I am eternally grateful. I can't imagine being in that much pain all the time.

But with the dulling of the pain has brought forth some confusion. I can think about my abuse and be hurt that it happened, but the pain isn't there with it. I don't know how to think about my abuse without having that sharp pain of betrayal, anger, disgust, etc stabbing at me. I almost feel like I am past the point of being "allowed" to let it bother me anymore. Or more so, let it affect my life anymore.

I was reading through some of my fellow bloggers posts and it has become more and more apparent that these women were subjected to long-term sexual abuse and rape. I was not. I was abused once. In my readings, I came across an anonymous comment someone had left about not knowing what it was like to be sexually abused, except maybe if you counted being "genitally probed" by her neighbors son as a teenager, under a blanket while watching a movie with their families.

I don't know what to do with that. It really hurt to read that comment because it was so brushed off... like, oh I don't even classify that as abuse, just something that I wish didn't happen but I'll survive. It really angered me and I only was abused once. I didn't incur daily or even weekly abuse. I didn't have to hide when I heard footsteps. So why is my view of this experience so much different than this anonymous poster?

I have spent the last two years of my life in freefall trying to recover from the acknowledgement of the abuse even happening, how it affected my life as I lived in denial, how to change my perceptions of men and start to trust people. Especially now that the pain has dulled, I feel like I made a huge deal out of something that wasn't. I mean, this person doesn't even view their experience as abuse. Is it different because the boy was her age? Is it different to me because my abuser was 40 years older than me?

I have been spending a lot of my time lately just trying to gain some perspective on everything and I am not getting anywhere. I am very confused.

Chapter 3

On The Thre.shold of H.ope
by Dia.ne Lang.berg

"How to Ca.re for You.rself As You Read"

Reading this book is terrifying for most survivors, as it means you have acknowledged you abuse and are doing something to remedy it's position in your life. This book will definitely bring to the forefront some thoughts and feelings you forgot you had. In order to make sure you are doing so in the most healthy environment, the author provides tips in helping you get through this book.

1: Don't read at night. Most abuse happens in the cover of darkness and it can easily be a trigger.

2: Read in small bits. I can say personally I read a few chapters of this book in March, then had to put it away for a few months. It was just too much at times.

3: Stop when you have had enough. For some it will happen faster than you'd like.

4: Write down your thoughts as you read. Rarely will you remember your first response to reading a passage that strikes a chord with you unless you write it down. It can provide great insight to the thoughts/feelings you are having at your current stage in healing.

5: Make sure you have a way to deal with what you are reading in a safe relationship. Whether with a therapist, pastor or mentor, you need to have someone who can support you in what you are opening your mind up to.

6: Plan constructive ways to take care of yourself. Garden, exercise, scrapbook, listen to music. Find a way for you to give comfort to yourself when you get too overwhelmed.

7: Realize that reading through this book will hurt. You will want to stop. You will want to tell yourself you are being silly and should just get over it. You will want to run from the feelings you will face. You will be completely normal in that.

3 Questions

It's safe to say the last week has been emotionally exhausting.

Yesterday I had a double session, in reaction to my session last week. I was extremely pass.ive agg.ress.ive (which is not like me at all) and got home and felt horrible for wasting my time and hers. I made an agreement with myself that I was going to get it together and do what needed to be done... even though it scared the crap out of me. I journaled every day and got some good things to talk about. The best thing out of all of my entries were 3 questions. 3 questions I wrote in huge block print taking up the whole page.

These questions represented what I needed to be asked in order to feel ready to say what needed to be said. To say what has kept the "inner me" silenced so much lately.

The panic that rushed through my body when she asked me the first question was something I had almost forgot. It numbs your arms and your legs, but pools all of your blood in your heart causing it to beat wildly in your chest. Your breathing gets so fast it feels like you won't have enough air to continue breathing. It took me a while just to compose myself. I asked her to ask me again. Another wave of panic, but this time a little shorter. I asked her to ask me again. I sat there and thought... I stared... I closed my eyes. I told her I thought I could answer these questions if I kept my eyes closed. She asked me again:

Why are you afraid to give up control and let God take over?

(through streaming tears) He had control. He chose this for my life. He put me in that bedroom alone. How am I supposed to let Him have control when something like that could happen again?

Why don't you trust Him?

(through sobs and tears) Because He left me. He left me in that bedroom alone. I had no one. I needed Him there and he wasn't there.

Why is it easier for you to believe there is no God than to be so hurt by this one?

Believing there is no God is so much easier. It's so much harder to think that there is a God, that He wasn't there for you when you needed Him and that you are so hurt by that.

Just like your family?

(nod)


It took me an hour to answer those 3 questions. The next hour we began to touch on breaking down some of the answers to those questions. Free will is what it is, so God doesn't cause things to happen, but he does allow them. Stopping them negates free will. So getting myself to a place where I can acknowledge the difference is a first step. I don't remember how, but we arrived to the fact that God was there. At the beginning of the session, we had talked about my hesitancy to cry while I was there with her. I gave her my reasons then she asked me if I ever cried about what happened to me. I told her the truth... no. She then asked me what I thought God was feeling when I was in that bedroom. My only response was that He felt all the pain that I couldn't feel... the pain I still can't fully feel. If He was there, he took my pain so I didn't have to shoulder the burden. Now I think God is trying to give some of it back to me. I hope I'm ready.

Rain

Chapter 2 "On the Threshold"

This is one of the shortest chapters of the book, a mere 3 pages in length. It is begun with a story from the Bible. A Levite took in and managed to lose his concubine by his arrogancy and unloving treatment. When she fled, he went after her and demanded she come back. On their way back to their town, they had to stop choosing a town that was much further along because it offered them safety. The nearest town had no Israelites and the Levite did not feel safe there. They were taken in by an old man and given dinner, before some of the townsmen came beating on the door demanding to have sex with the concubine. The old man, feeling he could not allow his guest to be taken advantage of in this manner, offered his virgin daughter. This did not please these men and they continued their raucous arguing. The Levite, finally frustrated with all the noise pushed his concubine out in the street where she was beaten and raped all night by these men. When they finally let her go, she dragged herself back to the steps in front of the home, to die alone and broken. When the Levite finally opened the door and saw her crushed figure there, his reply was "Well come on... let's get going!".

The main reason for this story is to validate the anger and disgust you feel when you are able to connect with the atrocities of this story. To not be protected by the ones who are supposed to love you. To be taken by strangers and held against your will, thinking the night will never end, wishing death to arrive to take away the pain. To the lacksadaisical response of those around you; "Well come on!" or "Don't dwell on the past" or "Just get over it".

Those that read this book are on that threshold, dying as the concubine was. But the response will be different. Instead of "Let's get going" the voices of survivors in this book will offer new responses: "There is hope. I have been there. I can help."

On The Threshold of Hope

I really am at a loss for what to reflect on. I have never felt so disconnected from myself. I hate to compare it to denial, because with denial at least you are on some level feeling some sort of emotion just choosing to squash it... it is so much worse than that. I am not intentionally squashing anything. I am just here. There's nothing behind what you see; no pain, no fear, no anger. Numb.

I've started re-reading On the Threshold of Hope again, hoping to help me go back and reflect on things that I pushed aside because they were too hard to deal with initially. A lot of it I feel I have already moved past, but there are some things that still ring true, and others where my "hell-no-o-meter" is still going off loud and clear.

Chapter 1 (approriately named) "Getting Started"

When I first began this book, I was about 4 months in to counseling, having just verbalized my story for the first time since I first disclosed it to my mom, my counselor and then to the police and prosecutors. After those intial 12 weeks, I never spoke of it again for 12 years. My counselor recommended this book, as she had used it in the past with other clients dealing with sexual abuse, and she liked it because of how it was geared towards spiritual healing as well as healing of the body and mind.

The first chapter begins with a breakdown of the "voices" you will be hearing throughout the book. No, you aren't going crazy... you really will hear voices. ;) The first being the voice of the author; inserting her own experiences with clients and important identifications of the symptoms/thoughts/beliefs etc of sexual abuse victims. The second is the voice of survivors. Those she has worked with and gathered information on all the way up to Elie Wie.sel's abuse suffered at Ausch.witz. The third voice will be your own; chiming in with "Wow, I could have written that passage word for word" or "I can't believe someone else thinks that too." Other times the voice will remain silent. The last voice is that of the Redeemer. For those like me who have struggled with allowing that voice to break through the hurt and pain that you have carried around, this voice may not be as loud as the others. It may not break through for quite some time.

The author writes "... (this book is) meant to assure you that there is a way out of the darkness, that others have gone before you and now want to lend their voices to encourage you. It is my prayer that this book will enable you to see yourself "on the threshold of hope." "