Can You See My Secret?

I had an interesting experience this weekend.

I am required to get a certain number of training hours outside of school each year to maintain my certificate. Most of them I get during the summer, but I normally don't knock them all out in the summer and have to take a Saturday to finish them all up. There wasn't a whole lot offered that really pertained to me, but I did see one that caught my eye titled "Addiction/Abuse". Of course it was to be centered on how to help students who are suffering or come from families who deal with that, but I thought it might be helpful.

Knowing that V has done trainings for my school district before, I figured she was leading this one too since it is right up her alley. I talked to her about it and sure enough, she was going to be the presenter for it. I asked her what she thought about me attending, and she said it would be totally fine. I did a little thinking about it before I signed up, but decided that since nothing else that was offered was really on target with what I needed professionally, that I could go see her presentation and learn things both professionally and personally.

We talked a little bit in my session Thursday about what to expect as far as how she would interact with me (basically she'd pretend she didn't know me, keep the eye contact at a minimum, etc) and an idea of what she'd be talking about to help prepare me for anything triggering. I left feeling a little nervous after hearing some of the things she was going to talk about, but knew it was because I heard it with my "therapy brain" and it would not be the same when I was hearing it with my "professional brain".

So Saturday I walked into the training and signed in, picked a spot to sit and immediately got so self conscious. I felt like I was hiding this huge secret and shouldn't be there. We went around and introduced ourselves and when she got to me, it was so strange knowing that we were both pretending not to know each other on purpose. She started her presentation and I was shocked to find that I was almost immediately withdrawing without even having anything triggering me. I struggled to focus on what she was talking about. I struggled even with looking up at the screen because it was too close to where she was standing.

I spent a lot of the presentation staring at the handouts, the ground, my table, my nails... anything to avoid making eye contact. I felt like I did for so long after I was abused. I couldn't look people in the eye for the longest time. It was like that simple act meant that everyone could see what had happened to me and what I thought. I haven't felt like that in a long time. Like I was hiding some secret that everyone could see on my face. And I was hiding a secret...

Not only that, but I felt like I was a fly on the wall watching V discuss all these things, many of which pertained to me and my life, with all these strangers. It felt like I was watching all these people learn about my deepest and darkest secrets thinking it was about random people, but I really knew it was about me. And hearing V speaking the words made it stir inside of me differently.

I never realized how much her voice is connected with feeling things for me. Any time I approach things that require me to feel anything, she's there supporting me, pushing me and talking to me. Her voice has become one of those things you don't even realize is so embedded in your brain. It's like how a smell triggers a certain memory, I found that her voice triggers certain feelings. It was all very overwhelming. I didn't really take much from the presentation because I had all of this swirling through my head.

V sent me an email today asking how I was after the presentation. She picked up on the fact that I was having a hard time and wanted to know if she could do anything to help. I basically told her what I wrote about here. I'll be interested to see what she says in response.

Weird weekend.

Blessings

This might be the most amazing song I've ever heard. I hope it speaks to you the way it does to me.

8 Feet and 2 Tails of Joy

So as most of you know, I lost my sweet 20 year old cat this summer and it hit me hard. I never knew just how much I loved her until she was gone.

The silence was horrible. I hated walking into my empty house. I would lie in bed as long as I could because getting up would remind me that she wasn't going to be sitting by her food bowl waiting for breakfast. My heart ached for her companionship.

I gave myself a couple of weeks to mourn her and make sure that I wasn't rushing into the decision of adopting just because I wanted it to be like it was before, but rather for the right reasons.

I adopted two beautiful babies at the end of June and they have been a source of such joy in my life! They make me laugh on a daily basis and have nestled themselves permanently into my heart, all the while helping to heal the rawness of the hole left.

Mind Shift

Sorry for the absence! School is back in full swing and I have been very busy getting ready for it all!

My mind took a shift from "all about me" to "all about work" a couple of weeks ago and it has been hard for me to tap into my reflective side.

I'm still seeing V once a week, but right now school is the only thing on my mind. Once things settle in a little bit more, the "all about me" side will start to open itself back up.

I did have some rather disturbing dreams last night, though. Hoping those don't continue if I keep neglecting this other side of me.

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.

Crying

cry·ing/ˈkrī-iNG/

1.

to utter inarticulate sounds, especially of lamentation, grief, or suffering, usually with tears.

2.

to weep; shed tears, with or without sound.

This might as well be a 4-letter word in my world. I hate it. It's messy, it's noisy, it makes me feel so out of control. Thinking about how I look when crying makes me cringe.

I am much more partial to the way I think I look when I'm not crying. I'm put together. I'm in control. I'm not leaking from multiple orifices. To me, that emits an aura of strength.

Apparently I'm stuck in some sort of egocentric developmental stage because if you see it, it must be true right? Right.

I wish it were that simple. I have honed my craft of looking one way on the outside and feeling the complete opposite on the inside. I bet if you asked any one of my co-workers, family members (not immediate, like my mom), or even some friends they would describe me as someone who is confident, strong, and happy. Why wouldn't they think that? It's exactly what I put out there for people to see.

But even faking it all day doesn't change how I feel on the inside. Hurt. Angry. Resentful. Confused. Lonely. All the things that I hide within myself, that fuel my depression and anxiety, they are going to stay there regardless of what I make myself look like on the outside. So on the rare occasion that I allow myself to approach one of these topics in therapy, it's akin to walking up to a kennel full of Jack Russell terriers that have been locked up all day and trying to just let one out. I mean, one is all you can handle without losing control right? OK, maybe two, but you don't want all of them at once. So you walk up to the cage and they all start jumping all over each other, barging for the open space to get out. FREEDOM! I MUST ESCAPE! But all of a sudden you're now having to keep the door closed, you can't let them all escape at once, but you've got to wrangle the one or two you let out, keep them in check too.

This is how crying is for me. It's always a struggle. How much can you let out so that you're still in control, yet you're easing the load for what's left in? How can I maintain this incessant need to appear in control and strong, yet let my guard down enough to feel what I'm trying to let out? Or better yet, how can I get to a point where I don't care about what I look like when I'm crying and just let my body do what it needs to do to get the relief it so desperately wants?

Every single time I allow myself to cry that is not because of a death (my sweet kitty, my cousin, my grandparents, etc) it's always controlled. I'm always standing by the door, poised to slam it shut should anything appear to be approaching the "messy" stage. But all the while I'm (cleanly) crying and processing the reason for my tears, I always get this image in my head of what I really wish I could do. Scream, pound my fists, grasp my knees and rock back and forth, shake, curl up into a ball, cry so hard I'm gasping for air. The scenario varies but is always there.

I wish so bad that I could allow myself to feel what's inside of me, but something always holds me back. I don't want anyone to ever see me in that state. So broken and hurt. Because if I don't show it, it's not really there right? Right.

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.

Who Are You On Vacation?

I've been reading a lot of posts lately about vacation and how people are finding an inner peace that seems almost impossible when at home, immersed in daily life and adult responsibilities.

V and I actually had this discussion a few weeks ago when I got back from DC. I don't remember how we got on the topic, but I mentioned that traveling brings out a side of me that isn't seen a lot at home. I feel in my element, confident and worthy. I speak up about things that normally would warrant a non-response or some sort of internal dialogue and shame. I walk in the front of the line, instead of always wanting to be at the back. I am spontaneous. I sleep soundly. I laugh. I play. I feel whole.

For whatever time frame that I am on vacation, I find that I immediately pick up these characteristics and feel so at peace within my own mind and body... something that feels at times impossible in my normal day to day surroundings.

What is it about traveling/vacation that flips that switch so easily for me?

It literally is an almost instant transformation. Sometimes it happens as soon as I arrive at the airport, other times it's as I step off the plane. I know that amazing experiences are ahead of me. I've planned for them. I've paid for them. It's like I get to have control over my life in a way that is not possible at home. I get to pick and choose what I want to do that I know will bring me joy, do it on my own time frame, with the people I want and it all falls into place (assuming I've planned ahead properly!). Vacation is like a glimpse of what life would be like if you could control everything. Maybe that's why we all like vacation so much! What's not to like about that?!

By the end of a good vacation, I'm ready to be home if for nothing more than to sleep in my own bed, but part of me wonders now if my eagerness to be back home is to try and put into practice these traits and characteristics that I possess on vacation. To try and blend this seemingly completely separate me into my "real" life.

Are you different on vacation?

A Hole In My Heart

So in my most recent updates, I haven't talked about what happened on June 8th.

I'll rewind a little.

It's the last week of school and I am already a little stressed because I'm scheduled to go out and see my dad that weekend. I hadn't seen him since he right after he was in the ICU, and I was nervous about having to come to terms with the new way life was going to be for a while. I noticed Monday that my cat, Spazzie, looked a little fatter around the midsection than normal. Made a little mental note to keep an eye on it and went on with the week. By Wednesday she had gotten bigger and it was apparent that she had quite a bit of fluid in her abdomen.

One x-ray and some bloodwork later and it was determined that she had a mass near, possibly in her liver. They couldn't tell without doing more extensive tests, none of which were going to give me anything that was treatable at her age... which was almost 20. They also couldn't tell me how long it would be. She was still eating, drinking and pottying at that point, which were all good signs, but liver cancer is notorious for being very quick to take down animals so I wasn't feeling very confident.

I was supposed to leave in 2 days to see my dad (was planned to be gone for over a week) and now I was thrown into the position of trying to decide to put my baby to sleep before I left so I could say goodbye on my own terms, or playing with chance and hoping she made it until I got back.

Not liking either of those options, I tried calling the airlines to see if I could change my flight, give me more time to make this horrible decision instead of feeling rushed into it. For $600 I could change my departure date. That was more than I paid for the entire roundtrip ticket. Next plan. Buy a one way ticket leaving later in the week, so I could stay here and have more than 48 hrs to decide what to do. Airline again is no help. If I miss my original departing flight, they cancel my whole reservation so I won't have the return flight back. Last plan. Leave on the original date and buy a one way ticket back early. I wasn't thrilled with this plan because by Friday, she wasn't moving as fast or nearly as interested in food as she normally was, but my stepmom had been giving me a hard time about not being there to help and I didn't feel like I could just cancel because my cat might die in the next few days.

I went ahead and took her to my mom's on Saturday, and left for California. I decided that Wednesday (June 8th) was when I needed to come back. It wasn't too long out there that I felt like I was pushing my luck, but long enough where I felt like my stepmom wouldn't give me a hard time.

I was miserable the whole time. Aside from the fact that my dad has gone from the smartest man I know to what I can only describe to you as someone with Alzheimer's was already hard to come to terms with, but it was torture being away, knowing deep in my soul I was going to have to prepare myself to say goodbye to my baby, either on her own time, or mine.

By Monday she wasn't really moving around a lot and barely eating, so I had my mom take her to the vet so they could take care of her until I got back. My flight back Wednesday was set to get in right around rush hour, and the vet was a good 90 minutes from the airport, not to mention my car was still at my mom's house.

I barely made it to the vet in time to pick her up. They brought her in and she looked so pitiful. Her fur was all dry, her tummy all swollen and she didn't have that sparkle in her eyes. The vet (who wasn't the normal guy, he's off on Wednesday's which of course is what day this was) updated me on what they had done for her, the medicines they put her on and the choices I had for making her comfortable while I decided what I wanted to do.

I left the vet in tears, just wanting to get home and sit with her. Hoping she just looked as pitiful as she did because she wasn't at home. When I walked in the door and set down the carrier, she took enough steps to get out then laid down right on the floor. I just sat down next to her and sobbed. She was telling me what I needed to do. I cried and I cried, the way I never have before. I literally could not breathe. I had her for 18 of her almost 20 years of life and I wasn't ready. I still wanted more time... but I knew. I knew keeping her alive would only be for me. That she was ready, that she held on for me to be there with her, the way she had been there for me so many other times in my life.

I couldn't bear having to wait until the next morning to do this. The thought of having her there another night, knowing what I had to do in the morning was just too much. I called my mom and (somehow) managed to stop crying long enough to explain what the vet said and that I couldn't wait until tomorrow. There was an after hours vet that I had taken her to before, that is the 2nd location of the place where I took her regularly. I called them and asked if they had the resources to do this after hours and how late they'd be open. My mom asked if I wanted her there. Normally, emotional situations I tend to fight on my own... but I knew this was too big, even for me.

Next I called my sister and updated her as well. I told her if she wanted to say her goodbyes, she needed to get to my place soon. Calls out of the way, I remained on the floor next to Spazzie just staring at her. I curled up next to her on the floor and just listened to her breathe. Listened to her purr. Like I would always do when I was stressed out because the sound made me feel so much better. I don't know what made me think of it, but I grabbed my phone and held it up to her, recording her purrs so I would have them forever. Time seemed to slow to a near stop as I just laid there with her, thinking of all the things that we had experienced together. She kept looking at me, as to say, I'm thinking of it too. Those last 30 minutes we shared alone I will never forget.

My mom and sister arrived not much later, and before long I found myself in the front seat of my mom's car, clutching Spazzie like a small child might. It seemed like everything from there on out was an auto-pilot response. We arrived at the other location, and the vet wanted to look her over to make sure that putting her to sleep was warranted. It didn't take long for her to see what was there, and she explained what would happen and asked if I wanted to stay in the room with her.

I wasn't about to walk out and leave her there alone. I positioned myself to have one hand on her head and my eyes looking directly to hers. I watched her sweet, sweet soul leave her body and the life go from her eyes. The doc stepped out to give me (and my mom) some time alone with her. I laid my head next to hers on the table, hugging her and crying into her fur, thanking her for being there for me, teaching me how to love and for loving me for who I was.

I never knew my heart could break the way it did at that very moment... and feel so broken and empty after.

June 8th. The day that will never be just another day for me.

I miss her so much. There will always be a hole in my heart where her presence once filled.

11/16/91 - 6/8/11

Venturing Out

I've been in DC for the last week with 3 of my friends. I had a BLAST!!

We got to do so much stuff, a lot of which most people don't get to do. My friend has a congressman in her family so we got to have a guided tour through the tunnels and other hidden places in the Capitol that you wouldn't see otherwise. We hung out in his office for a while and just chatted. He was also able to get us an internal tour of the White House and Pentagon, which were both amazing!! We did all the other "normal" stuff; monuments, statues, memorials, the National Cathedral, Arlington cemetery, etc. I don't think I've ever done so much walking in my entire life. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but my feet hurt so bad on the second day I was almost in tears once we got back to the hotel.

It's probably a good thing we walked like 100 miles because I ate nothing but junk food while we were there! I had more pizza and hamburgers in the past 6 days than I have in the past 6 months probably! Hopefully I didn't do too much damage. I've been doing Jenny Craig this summer and I don't want to have to re-lose the same weight.

I'm glad to be back home! I'm glad to have my own bed and bathroom, rather than having to share with 3 others. It was quite an experience. There were times that we laughed so hard we were crying, and rode back in silence because we were all a little crabby.

My goal while I was there was to be "in the moment". I didn't want to spend my vacation caught up in my head, worrying about things I can't control or things that aren't even occurring anytime soon. I wanted to be happy with what I was doing and try to stay positive, even when I was sleep deprived, hungry or both. I also wanted to be a more genuine me. A lot of times when I'm in a group, I tend to become a wallflower and let others guide the decisions, conversations, etc. Instead of always doing that, if I had something I wanted to say or suggest, I did. There were times that I still fell into old habits (confrontation avoiding, playing peacekeeper, etc) but since those weren't my specific goals I wasn't hard on myself for not challenging them.

All in all, it was an amazing trip! DC is now my absolute favorite American vacation! If you haven't been, go!!! :)